' 


POPULAR  ITALIAN  NOVELS, 


1.— BEATRICE  CENCI. 
By  GUERKAZZI 


.$1  75 


2.— MANFRED. 

By  GtTERRAZZT. 


.$1  75 


3._DOCTOR  AJSfTONIO. 
By  KUFFINI. 


$1  75 


All  issued  uniform  with  this  volume.    Price  §1.75  each, 
and  sent  free  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price, 

BY 

G.  W.  CARLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 
New  York. 


MANFRED; 


OR, 


THE    BATTLE   OF   BENEVENTO. 


BY 

F.    D.    G  U  ER  R  AZZI, 

AUTHOR  OF  "BEATRICE  CENCI." 


TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    ITALIAN 
BY 

LUIGI  MONTI,  A.M., 

Formerly  Instructor  in  Italian  i>c  the   University  at  Cambridge;  lately 

United  States    Consul  at   Palermo:    author  of  an   Italian 

Grammar  and  Reader;    translator  of  Guer- 

razzfs  "Beatrice   Cenci"  and 

"Isabella  Orsini." 


NEW    YORK: 

G.    W.    Carleton    &   Co.,    Publishers. 

LONDON:   S.   LOW,   SON   &  CO., 
MDCCCLXXy. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

G'.   W.    CARLETON   &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


JOHN  F.  TROW  &  SON,  PRINTERS, 
;o5-ai3  EAST  i2TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK. 

Maclauchlan,  Stereotyper, 
145  &  147  Mulberry  St.,  near  Grand,  N. 


®0  f  is  fjmwr, 
SAMUEL    C.    COBB, 

MAYOR    OF    THE    CITY    OF    BOSTON, 


RECOGNITION  OP 


TWENTY-FIVE  YEARS  OF  WARM  AND  SINCERE 
FRIENDSHIP. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

PREFACE 9 

I. — Madness , n 

II. — Love 20 

III.— The  First  Kiss 29 

IV. — Injury 40 

V. — Deception ,  5° 

VI.— The  Prisoner 66 

VII.— The  Banditti 80 

VIII.— The  Palmer 102 

IX.— The  Naval  Battle ill 

X. — The  &ead  of  the  Unjust  Judge 124 

XI.— The  Traitor's  End 143 

XII.— The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt 171 

XIII. — Remorse 199 

XIV. — Extreme  Unction 212 

XV. — The  Demoniac 226 

XVI. — The  Conspiracy. 249 

XVII.— The  Spy 267 

XVIII.— Despair 278 

XIX.— The  Surprise 290 

XX.— The  Judgment  of  God 306 

XXL— The  Flight 329 

XXII.— The  Saracen 34.5 

XXIIL— The  Sorrowful  Night 375 

XXIV.— The  Battle  of  Benevento 399 

XXV.— The  Revenge 426 

APPENDIX 445 


PREFACE. 


SEVERAL  years  have  passed  since  I  first  presented  to  the 
American  public  two  works  of  this  fertile  Italian  author, 
the  "  Beatrice  Cenci"  and  "  Isabella  Orsini." 

The  following  historical  Romance  was  already  in  course 
of  preparation,  when  the  sad  war  which  broke  out  in  the 
United  States  interrupted  rny  labors ;  and  since  then, 
being  appointed  to  a  responsible  office  abroad,  my  offi- 
cial duties  have  prevented  my  attending  to  literary  works. 
Having  lately  been  recalled  from  my  post,  I  have 
resumed  my  labors,  hoping  to  bring  to  the  knowledge 
of  American  readers  some  more  of  the  works  of  the 
principal  writers  who  have  illustrated  Italy  in  this  cen- 
tury. 

The  work  of  Italian  independence  is  accomplished. 
But  the  world  that  has  rejoiced  at  the  result  little  knows 
the  long  years  of  preparation  and  of  suffering  that  pre- 
ceded it.  The  men  of  action  that  have  led  the  movement 
both  in  the  field  and  in  politics  are  well  known ;  but  the 
studious  minds,  the  scholars  and  poets  that  prepared  it, 
and  were  the  first  to  breathe  the  name  of  Italy  and  Italian 
independence,  are  comparatively  unknown ;  but  their 
name  is  legion,  and  most  of  the  present  freedom  and  wel- 
fare of  Italy  is  due  to  them  and  their  teachings. 

Among  these,  Guerrazzi  was  the  earliest  and  boldest 
writer,  whose  aim  was  the  regeneration  of  Italy  and  her 
redemption  from  both  foreign  and  domestic  oppression. 
"Unable  to  fight  a  battle,  I  have  written  a  book,"  was 
the  expression  he  used  when  he  presented  a  copy  of 
the  "  Siege  of  Florence,"  the  most  wonderful  creation  of 
his  poetical  imagination,  to  his  friend,  the  great  patriot 


x  Preface. 

Joseph  Mazzini ;  and  indeed  all  the  works  of  Guerrazzi 
are  battles  against  despotism  and  incitements  to  the 
Italians  to  rise  against  a  foreign  dominion.  Therefore 
the  reader  and  critic  should  not  judge  the  work  as  purely 
literary,  but  in  its  political  and  social  scope  as  applied  to 
the  Italians  in  those  days  :  which  was  to  stir  them  up  from 
their  apathy;  to  shame  them  from  the  degradation  in 
which  they  lived  ;  to  point  out  to  them,  by  the  histories  of 
the  past,  that  the  causes  of  their  present  political  subjec- 
tion had  been  their  internal  strifes  and  dissensions,  their 
civil  wars,  the  wars  between  state  and  state,  cities  and 
cities,  and  very  often  between  private  citizens  of  the  same 
city,  the  private  revenges  and  fierce  passions  of  Guelphs 
and  Ghibellines,  Montagus  and  Capulets,  Whites  and 
Blacks  ;  in  consequence  of  which  sad  condition,  foreign 
despots,  taking  advantage  of  their  internal  dissensions, 
had  crossed  the  Alps  and  held  sway  over  them. 

The  above  observations  are  necessary,  because  the 
reader  will  find  passages  unconnected  with  the  story  itself, 
and  which  at  the  present  date  are  entirely  out  of  place, 
for  Italy  is  now  united  and  independent ;  but  at  the  time 
the  book  was  first  published  by  Guerrazzi,  she  groaned 
under  seven  different  despotic  rulers,  mostly  foreigners  or 
of  foreign  origin,  with  the  exception  of  the  King  of  Sar- 
dinia, now  King  of  Italy. 

Hence  allowance  should  be  made  for  some  exaggerated 
ideas,  for  some  flights  of  fancy,  for  the  vehemence  with 
which  he  sometimes  attacks  his  own  countrymen,  and  the 
pungent  sarcasms  which  he  occasionally  aims  at  them  ; 
the  reader  therefore  should  keep  in  mind  that  the  aim  of 
the  author  was  to  teach  Italians,  by  the  narrative  of 
crimes  committed  by  their  fathers,  that  these  were  the 
causes  of  the  conquest  and  degradation  of  Italy,  and  that 
no  people  can  expect  to  be  glorious  and  independent  un- 
less they  practise  virtue. 

THE  TRANSLATOR. 
BOSTON,  March  StA,  1875. 


MANFRED; 

OR, 

THE   BATTLE   OF   BENEVENTO. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MADNESS. 

Gli  occhi  inflammati  e  pregni 
Di  lagrimevol  riso ; 
Roca  sonar  la  voce,  e  le  parole 
Con  subiti  sospiri ; 
Stare  inquieto,  andare 
Frettoloso,  e  voltarsi 
Spesso,  quasi  altri  il  chiami, 
Son  certissimo  segno 
Di  un  antico  furore. 

CANACE,  Tragedia  Antica. 

The  eyes  inflamed,  and  full  of  tearful  smiles, 

Hoarse-sounding  voice,  words  mixed  with  sudden  sighs ; 

Unquiet  standing  and  uneasy  motion  ; 

A  sudden  turn  as  at  a  distant  call : 

These  are  of  an  old  madness  certain  signs.* 

AS    ever   lived  a  human   being  who,  lifting  hi3 
eyes  to  the  sky  of  Italy,  would  deny  it  to  be  the 
most  pure^and  serene  that  ever  the  smile  of  God 
lighted  upon  ?     Has  ever  lived  a  human  being 
who,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the  sky  of  Italy  when  it  is  first 

*  This  and  the  following  metrical  translations,  marked  M.  G.  M., 
are  due  to  Mrs.  M.  G.  Meatyard,  of  Chicago,  to  whom  I  acknowledge 
myself  gratefully  indebted. — THE  TRANSLATOR. 


12  Madness. 

clothed  with  the  splendor  of  the  rays  of  the  first-born  of 
nature,  has  not  felt  his  mind  inspired  by  the  memory  of 
the  great  men  that  are  no  more,  but  whose  names  linger 
on  his  soul  like  the  harmonious  vibration  of  the  harp 
when  left  by  the  artist's  touch  ?  Whoever,  watching  that 
star  of  life  abandoning  to-night  the  dominion  of  the  sky, 
and  flashing  to  it  its  last  adieus  from  the  horizon  of  the 
ocean,  has  not  stretched  his  arms  toward  it  and  implored 
that  it  might  remain  forever  in  its  celestial  abode  ?  But 
if  it  set  with  the  evening  it  rose  again  with  the  morning, 
and  saw  centuries  pass  away  into  eternity,  generations 
follow  generations  into  the  grave,  and  the  everlasting  al- 
ternation of  virtue  and  crime.  Briefly  did  it  shine  on  the 
honor  of  Italy,  long  on  her  grief  and  on  her  shame.  Alas  ! 
I  would  never  have  believed  that  nations  could  die  like 
individuals.  What  eye  is  not  suffused  when  the  sad 
light  of  the  moon  and  stars  shines  down  from  heaven 
upon  the  silent  fields  of  earth  ?  A  sound  of  celestial  har- 
mony issues  from  the  motion  of  the  stars  in  the  firma- 
ment, a  sound  of  eternal  song ;  and  though  too  far  remote 
to  strike  the  ear  of  man,  still  it  inspires  him  with  a  secret 
feeling,  an  irrepressible  emotion,  which,  awakening  sad 
sweet  remembrances  in  his  mind,  force  him  to  tears. — 
Ah  !  thou  art  beautiful,  O  sky  of  Italy,  whether  night  or 
day  rejoices  thee,  and  truly  a  divine  creation.  When 
Italy  sat  queen  of  the  world,  thou  vvert  her  meet  pavil- 
ion ;  but  now  .  .  .  the  great  are  dead,  the  monuments 
scattered,  .  .  .  fame  itself  departed  ;  .  .  .  and  why,  O  sky  ! 
dost  thou  not  likewise  change  ? — The  funereal  garment  of 
the  lovely  departed  maiden  is  not  black ;  her  friends 
choose  it  of  a  gay  color,  adorn  it  with  the  flower  of  hy- 
men, and  thus  try  to  'deceive  themselves  as  to  the  exist- 
ence of  her  who  is  no  more,  and  the  sobs  and  sighing 
adieus  that  are  uttered  on  her  descent  into  the  grave  are 
not  as  to  one  dead,  but  as  to  one  who  is  long  to  remain 
far  away  from  them.*  The  eternal  wisdom  which  governs 
the  creation  granted  this  beautiful  sky  to  Italy,  that  it 

*  Alluding  to  the  custom  in  Italy  of  burying  maidens  in  a  bridal 
dress. — TR. 


Madness.  13 

might  be  a  brilliant  witness  in  her  days  of  glory,  and  of 
comfort  in  her  longer  ones  of"  misfortune.  It  alone  has 
remained,  because  the  anger  of  man  has  not  been  able  to 
snatch  it  away  from  us.  .  .  . 

And  the  earth  !  Every  sod  contains  the  ashes  of  a 
hero's  heart.  We  tread  upon  the  dust  of  the  great  .  .  . 
we,  who  are  more  worthy  of  being  buried  in  the  dust. 
Only  foreigners  know  our  histories,  and,  full  of  reverence, 
fear  at  every  step  a  voice  arising  from  the  earth  exclaim- 
ing, "  Coward,  why  dost  thou  trample  upon  the  brave  '!  " 
Go  on  still  freely,  O  foreigner !  for  every  moment  of  life 
is  well  spent  on  the  threshold  of  death.  These  sunsets 
know  no  twilight,  nor  voice  of  dead  ever  arises  from  the 
sepulchres  unless  the  valor  or  the  love  of  the  living  inscribes 
it  there.  To  a  degraded  generation  the  grave  only  repre- 
sents the  abode  of  the  decaying  corpse,  rather  than  the 
altar  of  magnanimous  inspirations  ;  our  mind  turns  to 
corruption  rather  than  glory,  and  we  have  long  been  so 
cowed  down  that  we  dare  not  people  the  tomb  with  the 
sublime  fancies  of  greatness.  Wherefore  should  the  ven- 
erated forms  of  our  fathers  arise  ?  Perchance  to  see 
what  condemnation  has  blasted,  as  with  lightning,  their 
unhappy  race  ?  Perchance  to  know  that  there  does  not 
live  an  Italian  heart  which  beats  for  Italian  glory  ?  Spare 
yourselves,  O  fathers  !  this  bitter  grief;  spare  us.  O  fathers  ! 
the  reproach  of  your  countenances  ;  let  death  be  a  fitting 
bond  between  us.  May  these  ages  never  be  remembered 
in  history  !  May  posterity  leave  us  the  only  heritage  we 
pant  for,  .  .  .  oblivion  ! 

I  relate  a  story  of  crimes,  atrocious,  heinous  crimes, 
such  as  only  infamous  men  who  hate  both  creature  and 
Creator  can  commit ;  such  crimes,  that  one  would  hardly 
believe  there  would  be  an  ear  to  hear,  a  mind  to  imagine, 
or  an  arm  to  execute  them.  Nor  let  any  one  accuse  me 
of  the  intention  of  terrorizing  rather  than  instructing  the 
people.  Easy  thing  is  to  speak,  but  the  words  of  wisdom 
seldom  fall  from  the  lips  of  man.  Let  him  who  would 
censure  me  meditate  first  upon  the  history  of  past  ages, 
upon  the  heart  of  man,  and  he  will  understand  that  the  his- 
tory of  great  men  is  only  fit  for  worthy  men.  The  virtuous 


14  Madness. 

requite  no  recompense,  their  only  reward  is  fame  :  the 
highest,  indeed,  and  first  among  the  consolations  granted 
to  the  fallen  race  of  Adam  !  but  only  for  the  noble  hearts 
that  can  love  it,  live  for  it,  die  for  it.  But  to  a  people  whose 
minds  have  been  perverted,  and  whose  souls  languish  in 
the  habitual  drowsiness  of  evil,  what  can  be  to  them  the 
visions  of  fame  ?  Words  of  mockery,  subjects  of  laughter  ! 
A  stronger  power  than  the  examples  of  virtue  is  required. 
Only  the  sight  of  the  havoc  wrought  by  sin  might,  if  any- 
thing could,  move  such  spirits.  The  dread  voice  of  the 
Archangel  alone  can  rend  the  tombs,  and  arouse  their 
tenants  from  the  lethargy  of  death.  .  .  . 

'Tis  the  last  moment  of  twilight ;  a  mournful  tint  is 
spread  over  the  flowery  shores  of  Naples.  The  summits 
of  Tifata,  Vesuvius  and  the  Apennines,  which  bound  it 
on  one  side,  glow  with  a  crimson  light,  which,  gradually 
dying  away  among  the  more  distant  mountains,  is  lost  in 
the  gloom  of  approaching  night,  as  time  is  lost  in  eter- 
nity. Softly  sighs  the  evening  breeze,  which  now  lightly 
ripples  the  surface  of  the  water,  now  bears  away  the  fra- 
grant breath  of  the  orange,  the  aloe,  and  all  the  rich  orien- 
tal plants  which  adorn  the  shores  of  Posilipo  and  Mergel- 
lina,  and  playfully  surrounds  the  traveller  with  its  sweet- 
ness, and  bears  it  to  heaven  as  a  tribute  offered  by  earth 
to  her  Creator.  Sweetly  sounds  the  evening  song  by 
which  the  laborer,  still  distant,  announces  his  return  to  his 
family.  Sweetly  falls  upon  the  ear  the  hymn  of  saluta- 
tion which  the  fisherman  offers  to  the  moon  rising  from 
behind  the  opposite  mountains,  while  with  measured  oar 
he  strikes  the  waves  of  the  Bay  of  Naples.  Beautiful  is 
thy  earth,  O  unhappy  country,  beautiful  as  the  terres- 
trial paradise  in  the  earliest  days  of  creation  ! 

But  under  an  arch  which  leads  to  the  royal  gardens  of 
the  Capuan  castle,  the  magnificent  dwelling  of  King 
Manfred,  a  youth,  insensible  to  such  magnificence  of 
nature,  is  tracing  irregular  lines  upon  the  gravel  with  the 
point  of  his  sword.  He  is  handsome  and  majestic  ;  his 
very  blond  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  hangs  down  upon 
his  shoulders ;  all  his  features  are  beautiful  ;  but  his 
large  blue  eyes  often  remain  fixed  in  intensity  of  thought, 


Madness.  15 

as  if  scrutinizing  something  beyond  this  world.  Upon  his 
forehead  there  is  a  mark  which  is  rarely  seen  upon  the 
brow  of  youth.  What  could  have  impressed  this  unnatu- 
ral stamp  of  years  between  the  temples  of  him  who  has  seen 
but  twenty  pass  away  ?  Bitterness  of  soul  had  traced  that 
furrow  of  age  upon  the  face  of  that  unhappy  youth,  and 
that  mark  sat  upon  his  head  like  the  crown  of  sorrow. 

Unfortunate  being  !  Never  has  maternal  caress 
stilled  his  childish  tears  ;  a  father's  kiss  has  never  glad- 
dened the  days  of  his  infancy  ;  he  has  known  neither 
father  nor  mother.  He  stands  in  life  like  a  plant  in  the- 
desert. — He  questions  memory,  and  finds  it  a  blank  : 
only  far,  very  far  back,  some  remembrances  of  blood,  .  .  . 
but  confused,  obscure,  as  it  were,  and  which  in  vain  he 
tries  to  bring  more  distinctly  before  his  mind.  His  soul 
burns  as  fiercely  as  the  sun  under  which  he  was  born  ;  his 
birth  troubles  him  ;  an  intuitive  feeling  of  greatness 
weighs  upon  him ;  he  craves  eagerly  for  something  he 
knows  not ;  he  would,  with  a  glance,  penetrate  the  myste- 
ries of  creation  ;  he  would,  with  a  word,  subdue  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth  ;  would  be  a  God  with  the  attributes  of 
man,  or  a  man  with  the  omniscience  and  the  thunders  of 
God.  But  his  lofty  fancy  falls  dejected  and  overwhelmed 
at  its  own  daring,  when  he  considers  his  unknown  birth ; 
his  heart  groans  with  anguish  tortured  by  all  the  torments 
of  the  fire  of  ambition.  Perhaps  this  fire  would  long  since 
have  consumed  him,  had  not  a  form  of  heavenly  beauty 
arisen  in  his  mind,  and  quenched  at  times  its  violence. 
Certainly  his  was  a  desperate  love,  and  one  well  worthy 
of  him.  The  mere  thought  of  it,  could  men  know  his 
thought,  would  have  been  punished  with  death.  What ! 
a  squire  dares  to  raise  his  looks  to  the  daughter  of  his  king  ? 
What  are  his  hopes  ?  Dares  he  to  think  that  the  maiden 
of  the  blood  of  Swabia  will  yield  her  heart  to  one  so  hum- 
ble ?  Does  he  know  the  dangers,  does  he  think  of  the 
sufferings  that  beset  his  path  ?  He  loves,  and  loves  des- 
perately. 

But  his  gaze,  long  insensible  to  all  the  beauties  that 
nature  spread  around  him,  fixed  itself  of  a  sudden  upon 
the  dwelling  of  the  son  of  Frederick.  The  castle  of 


16  Madness. 

Capua  seemed  truly  the  dwelling  of  a  king  ;  but  though 
by  its  size  it  appeared  such  as  only  an  architect  of  genius 
might  imagine,  by  its  strength  it  was  such  as  a  tyrant  in 
the  agony  of  fear  would  choose.  William  the  Bad,  of 
Norman  race,  built  it  for  his  own  personal  protection. 
Walls  of  enormous  thickness,  numerous  great  towers, 
platforms,  bulwarks,  and  all  the  precautions  that  art  in 
the  twelfth  century  could  suggest,  had  been  put  into  use 
for  insuring  the  safety  of  the  trembling  tyrant ;  but  in 
vain  !  Where  the  punishment  of  man  fails,  there  arises 
.the  judgment  of  God  :  he  died,  and  not  by  the  sword  ; 
but  his  race  was  extinguished ;  the  throne,  founded  by 
the  valor  of  Robert  Guiscard,  and  by  Count  Roger,  fell 
under  the  eternal  justice  which  visited  the  crimes  of 
William  I.  upon  the  unfortunate  William,  son  of  Tancred, 
Count  of  Lecce. 

Frederick  II.  wished  to  make  the  castle  look  more 
cheerful,  and  invited  for  that  purpose  to  Naples  Nicho- 
las Pisano,  the  greatest  architect  of  his  time,  giving  him 
the  charge  of  adorning  it.  But  the  genius  of  the  artist 
was  subdued,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  the  sight  of  the  edi- 
fice which  he  was  to  improve,  and  his  additions  only  in- 
creased its  gloom.  Like  unto  the  melodious  troubadour, 
who  in  the  silence  of  the  night  attempts  to  sing  a  merry 
roundelay,  by  degrees  almost  involuntarily  the  saddest 
notes  escape  from  his  lute,  and  his  merry  song  ends  in 
a  mournful  lay. 

The  moon,  joyfully  traversing  the  heavens,  indifferent 
whether  her  rays  are  blessed  or  cursed  in  the  earth,  shed- 
ding them  alike  upon  the  lovers  who  ardently  long  for 
the  hour  of  tender  meeting,  and  upon  the  assassin  who 
rushes  from  the  shade,  strikes  the  blow,  and  shrouds  him- 
self again  in  darkness,  pours  her  light  upon  the  Capuan 
castle.  The  illuminated  parts  of  the  building  appear  even 
larger,  from  the  contrast  with  the  shadows  in  which  the 
other  portions  are  buried.  Some  of  the  towers  seem  to 
have  no  foundation  in  the  earth,  but  to  stand  as  if  sus- 
pended in  the  air  ;  others  appear  half  ruined  ;  they  strike 
the  fancy  as  one  of  those  castles  which  writers  of  fiction 
describe  in  their  legends,  where  evil  spirits  assemble  to 


Madness.  17 

celebrate  their  unholy  orgies,  and  to  intoxicate  their 
souls  with  blood.  The  excited  imagination  of  the  ob- 
server might  fancy  to  see  the  spectre  of  William  the 
Bad  wandering  through  those  ruins,  condemned  to  visit 
the  mansion  erected  by  him,  but  inhabited  by  a  race 
not  his  own  ;  and  would  hear  the  groan  of  anger,  or  of 
conscience,  which  he  utters  in  the  desperation  of  his 
soul. 

Such  was  the  edifice  upon  which  the  youth  was  gazing. 
After  he  had  regarded  it  long  and  earnestly,  he  shook  his 
head,  saying,  "  The  works  of  tyranny  are  as  great  as  the 
works  of  liberty.  .  .  .  Fear  as  well  as  pride  have  given  to 
the  world  sublime  things  ;  .  .  .  good  as  well  as  bad  have 
produced  works  which  are  marvels  for  the  crowd,  but 
which,  for  those  who  have  hearts,  excite  only  compassion 
for  human  weakness. — Blessed  Mary  !  What  is  indeed 
this  castle  ?  What  are  the  treasures  that  Manfred  found 
in  Luceria  ?  What  is  the  power  of  Frederick  Barbarossa, 
or  of  Frederick  II.  ?  These  could  not  conquer  Italy  ; 
the  first  was  stopped  by  walls  of  clay  and  straw ;  the 
second  defeated  by  people  from  whom  he  had  withdrawn, 
that  he  might  not  be  a  witness  of  their  destruction.* 
And  then,  what  would  be  the  empire  of  Italy,  what  that 
of  the  world?  I  might  be  the  greatest  of  mortals,  but 
still  only  a  mortal ; — the  strongest  of  men  : — but  who  can 
boast  in  his  arm  the  strength  of  the  whirlwind  ?  The 
wisest  of  the  sons  of  earth  : — but  who  has  the  intellect  of 
the  sons  of  heaven  ?  Nevertheless  my  soul  would  for- 
get, or  at  least  soothe  this  feeling  which  embitters  my 
life,  if  I  would  rest  my  head  on  the  breast  of ...  whom  ? 
Did  I  name  her  ?  Are  these  not  retreating  footsteps 
which  I  hear  ?  No  ;  ...  all  is  silent.  I  must  dread  even 
to  name  her  !  .  .  .  O  Capuan  castle,  I  would  be  content 
with  thy  walls  !  Q  throne  of  my  king,  however  small, 
thou  wouldst  be  very  acceptable  to  me  if  I  could  seat 

*  The  Emperor  Frederick  Barbarossa,  in  1175,  was  forced  to  raise 
the  siege  of  Alexandria,  called  afterward  "  Delia  Paglia  "  (of  straw), 
for  the  reason  given.  The  army  of  Frederick  II.  was  routed  in 
1248  by  the  inhabitants  of  Parma  while  he,  sure  of  the  conquest 
of  the  city,  was  away  from  the  camp,  amusing  himself  in  hawking. 


1 8  Madness. 

myself  there  with  her  whom  I  have  made  the  idol  of  my 
thoughts  ! — I  have  always  loved  the  throne,  because  I 
feel  myself  born  for  it ;  but  now  this  desire  has  become 
madness,  for  nowhere  else  but  upon  a  throne  could  I  live 
with  her, ...  or  would,  if  I  could.  . .  But  I  am  an  unknown, 
.  .  .  nurtured  by  charity  in  the  house  of  a  stranger,  com- 
pelled to  serve,  having  a  soul  fit  to  command.  ...  I 
know  neither  father  nor  mother  ;  .  .  .  and  I  must  even  fear 
to  know  them  ;  for  perhaps  my  birth  is  stained  with  the 
blot  of  shame." 

Here  he  was  silent :  a  mortal  pallor  overspread  his 
face  ;  he  stood  motionless,  with  looks  intent,  his  lips 
parted  like  one  tormented  by  thirst ;  drops  of  perspira- 
tion fell  thick  from  his  brow  down  over  his  cheeks,  as  if 
pressed  out  from  a  brain  overcharged  with  anguish.  After 
a  time,  the  blood  returned  so  impetuously  as  to  crimson 
his  face,  while  the  throbbing  veins  and  swollen  muscles 
seemed  ready  to  burst  from  the  violence  of  his  emotion  ; 
his  whole  frame  was  convulsed,  and  he  held  his  head 
with  both  hands,  as  if  to  keep  it  from  bursting.  A  state 
so  miserable  could  not  continue,  and  he  sank  groaning 
upon  a  stone  seat. 

"  Oh  !  this  cannot  last,"  he  resumed  after  a  long 
pause,  in  a  faint  voice  ;  "  it  cannot,  will  not  last.  Since 
death  is  certain,  let  me  declare  myself,  and  die  nobly, 
.  .  .  nobly  ! .  .  .  But  I  might  be  contemptuously  repulsed, 
and,  while  I  hoped  to  die  nobly,  I  should  be  scorned  for 
my  presumption,  and  perhaps  despised  as  a  fool  ?  Blessed 
Mary  !  what  a  life  is  this,  where  virtue  is  held  a  crime, 
and  crime  receives  the  reward  of  virtue !  Who  is  the 
wise  man  that  can  teach  us  to  distinguish  the  one  from 
the  other,  or  tell  us  in  what  they  consist  ?  Will  that 
which  we  esteem  crime  be  so  regarded  by  future  ages  ? 
Is  virtue  which  injures  us  still  virtue?  Must  we  practise 
it  to  our  own  loss  ?  Where  has  nature  written  her  laws  ? 
In  the  heart  ?  I  place  my  hand  upon  mine,  but  it  only 
throbs  with  the  tumult  of  passions. — What  avails  it  lo 
meditate  upon  the  reasons  of  my  destiny  ?  It  is  far 
better  to  endure  it  with  hands  crossed  upon  the  breast, 
and  calmly  await  the  event.  Thus  will  I  do." 


Madness.  19 

"  Am  I  though  really  so  unfortunate  ?  Can  my 
memory  recall  aught  that  might  soften  with  its  illusions  a 
soul  torn  by  so  many  real  agonies  ?  Oh  !  the  realms 
of  fancy  delightfully  enchant  our  imagination,  but  their 
fascination  is  like  that  of  the  serpent  in  Eden ;  his  ended 
in  sin,  theirs  in  withering  the  mind  which  abandons  itself 
to  them. — Let  me  think.  .  .  .  The  day  in  which  her 
father  assumed  the  royal  crown,  she  dropped  at  my  feet 
the  scarf  which  she  wore  :  I  picked  it  up.  ...  It  has  tri- 
umphed with  me  in  the  tournament ;  ...  it  now  rests  upon 
my  heart  :  .  .  it  shall  remain  there  through  life  ;  ...  it 
shall  cover  my  face  in  the  grave. — And  the  day  of  the 
tournament !  Oh  !  only  bright  day  of  my  past  years  !  I, 
an  obscure  esquire,  covered  with  mail  and  bearing  the 
colors  of  Manfred's  daughter,  entered  the  lists  with  proud 
barons  and  famous  captains,  and,  a  mere  youth,  dared  to 
couch  a  lance  with  the  masters  of  the  art,  with  knights 
renowned  for  a  thousand  exploits,  and  I  conquered.  There 
only  remained  the  valiant  Count  Giordano  d'Anga- 
lone.  We  met ;  he  fell  rolling  in  the  dust.  He  laid 
the  blame  upon  his  saddle-girth ;  it  may  be  so,  but  he 
fell.  I  concealed  myself,  and  he  received  the  prize  of 
the  tournament,  since  the  true  victor  did  not  present 
himself ;  nor  did  I  envy  him,  for  I  felt  I  had  obtained  a 
far  higher  prize  than  his — the  love  of  Manfred's  daughter. 
— And  the  next  day  !  Oh  !  never  shall  I  forget  the  twelfth 
of  August!  I  led  her  white  palfrey: — in  mounting  she 
placed  her  hand  in  mine, .  .  .  and  trembled  ; .  .  .  I  likewise 
trembled  and  blushed.  But  did  she  blush  ?  I  dared  not 
raise  my  eyes  to  her  face.  Oh  !  that  was  joy,  .  .  .  and  per- 
haps false.  Who  knows  but  her  scarf  fell  by  accident  ? 
Who  knows  but  she  trembled  only  for  fear  of  falling  ;  or, 
may  be,  from  scorn  at  my  boldness  ?  .  .  .  The  Swabian 
blood  is  very  proud  ; .  .  .  but  if  pride  were  a  test  of  liueage, 
I  also  could  feel  myself  of  the  blood  of  Frederick.  But 
if  she,  bending  from  her  height,  should  ask  me,  '  Who  art 
thou  ? ' — Who  am  I  ?  .  .  .  One  unknown  to  himself  and  to 
others  ;  one  banished,  by  his  mother's  fault,  from  his 
father's  breast ;  a  living  monument  of  sin,  a  shame  to  him- 
self, a  disgrace  to  his  kindred.  .  .  .  Oh !  whoever  thou  art 


2O  Love. 

that  gave  me  a  life  which  I  would  never  have  accepted, 
had  it  been  possible  to  refuse,  heavy  must  have  been  thy 
sins,  for  fearful  is  the  punishment  which  I  endure  !  " 

Thus  spoke  the  unhappy  youth,  alternating  between 
grief  and  joy,  when  natural  weariness  overcame  him  and 
forced  him  to.  a  seat.  He  began  to  murmur  the  notes  of 
a  mournful  ballad,  and  his  music-loving  soul  was  soothed 
by  the  divine  melodies  born  and  preserved  under  the 
sky  of  Italy.  Then  thoughts  of  warlike  exploits  came  to 
his  spirit  refreshed  by  music  ;  he  began  first  very  softly ; 
little  by  little  his  voice  grew  louder ;  at  last  it  arose  to 
the  pitch  of  the  warlike  song.  Then  he  looked  forward 
to  more  future  glory,  to  military  prowess,  to  fame  ;  he 
arose,  took  his  sword,  and,  gracefully  wrapped  in  his  man- 
tle, walked  to  and  fro,  in  the  pride  of  a  mind  elevated  to 
the  contemplation  of  the  Infinite. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LOVE. 

Pargoletta  ella  era 
Tutta  sorriso,  tutta  gioia  ;  ai  fiori 
Parea  in  mezzo  volar  nel  piil  felice 
Sentiero  della  vita.     Ecco  ad  un  tratto, 
Di  tanta  gioia  estinto  il  raggio,  estinto  • 
Al  prirao  assalto  del  dolor. 

FRANCESCA  DA  RIMINI,  Tragedia. 

She  was  a  child,  all  smiles,  all  joy  ; 

And  seemed  along  life's  flowery  way 

Fluttering  in  bliss  without  alloy. 

But  in  one  moment,  joy's  bright  ray 

The  touch  of  sorrow  can  destroy.  M.  G.  M. 

|HY  should  a  tomb,  a  miracle  of  rare  marbles  and 
art,  cover   the  ashes  of  one  whose  life  would 
have  been  unknown  except  from  the  mQnument 
of  his  death  ?     Why  do  heavenly  forms,  delicate 
contours,  sprightliness  of  external  grace,  clothe  the  soul 


Love.  21 

of  \voman  ?  Why  are  we  endowed  with  hearts  which  throb 
in  her  presence,  nerves  which  thrill  at  this  most  beautiful 
spectacle  of  creation?  No  animal  has  contributed  any 
of  its  charms  to  the  female  form.  The  hues  of  the  bird 
of  paradise,  of  the  butterfly  of  Cashmere,  cannot  compare 
with  the  divine  tints  that  glow  on  the  cheek  of  beauty. 
The  gazelle  has  not  the  eyes  of  woman  ;  precious  stones 
do  not  shine  with  such  a  lustre ;  and  poets,  to  find  a 
worthy  similitude,  are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the 
skies.  But  no  reptile,  however 'hateful,  was  exempted 
from  furnishing  its  contribution  to  form  the  soul  which 
regulates  her  movements  ;  none  but  the  scorpion,  which, 
surrounded  by  the  fire,  turns  upon  itself  its  envenomed 
sting,  and  nobly  dies.  Beautiful  art  thou,  O  creature  ! 
but  thy  beauty  bears  a  dark  impress  :  thou  wert  daughter 
of  a  sublime  thought,  but,  like  Lucifer,  thou  art  fallen  ; 
thy  rays  are  like  those  of  the  setting  sun  :  they  dazzle,  but 
comfort  not  the  sight  ;  thy  beauty  is  our  torment.  Griev- 
ing we  go  in  search  of  that  innocence  which  Eve  left  in 
Eden,  and  this  is  the  bitterest  trial  of  our  hearts.  But 
thy  heart,  in  its  turn,  is  condemned  to  break  for  our  in- 
constancy. Perchance  thou  oughtest  to  be  cursed,  for 
thou  wert  the  first  to  sin  ;  the  serpent  dwells  in  thy  grace- 
ful form.  Curiosityis  the  mother  of  wisdom  ; — in  thee  it 
became  the  mother  of  sin.  Thou  hast  opened  the  way 
to  crime,  but  we  have  surpassed  thee  in  it. — Oh  !  children 
of  dust,  do  not  curse,  but  pity  one  another. 

In  the  halls  of  the  Capuan  castle  lives  a  maiden  di- 
vine in  form,  divine  in  soul.  Her  head  was  resting  upon 
a  pillow,  her  looks  cast  down  :  a  majestic  beauty  was 
visible  in  her  whole  aspect.  Many  maidens  were  stand- 
ing around  her,  silently  wishing  that  she  would  raise  her 
eyes,  which,  when  raised,  they  could  not  meet,  for  they 
flashed  forth  such  light  as  revealed  a  soul  that  one  would 
never  have  believed  could  dwell  in  her  delicate  frame. 
She  was  as  beautiful  as  the  mother  of  men,  whom  the 
divine  Ghiberti  painted  rising  from  Adam's  body,  and  led 
by  angels  to  place,  in  token  of  love,  her  hand  in  the  hand 
of  God.  Truly,  she  appeared  no  child  of  mortal  wed- 
lock ;  perchance  the  union  of  the  sons  of  God,  when  they 


22  Love. 

loved  the  beautiful  daughters  of  Cain,  might  have  pro- 
duced her;  but  the  spirit  of  the  Eternal  did  not  bless 
those  marriages,  for  they  originated  in  sin,  whence  came 
the  race  of  giants,  and  "  Nimrod,  the  mighty  hunter  be- 
fore the  Lord." 

Vainly  should  we  seek,  from  all  the  languages  of  the 
earth,  words  which  could  give  the  faintest  idea  of  that 
image  of  beauty  ;  it  would  be  easier  to  bring  light  out 
of  darkness,  or  to  stir  the  soul  of  the  sons  of  Italy. 

After  a  long  time,  she  rose  from  her  seat  and  went  to- 
wards the  balcony ;  her  step  was  as  light  as  the  zephyr 
that  rustles  among  the  roses,  or  as  the  incense  that  rises 
to  the  Deity ;  the  folds  of  her  dress,  fanned  by  the  breeze, 
diffused  around  a  rich  fragrance  ;  she  was  neither  sad  nor 
gay,  but  calm  with  the  solemnity  of  contemplation  when 
the  lightning  of  thought  flashes  over  the  events  of  cen- 
turies, when  the  ear  of  the  divine  intellect  hears  the  mys- 
terious music  of  the  spheres,  and  its  eye  paints  in  the 
heavens  the  creations  of  sublime  imaginations. 

Having  reached  the  balcony,  she  stopped  to  look  at  the 
sky,  and  sighed  ;  then,  turning  to  the  maiden  at  her  side, 
she  spoke  with  a  voice  as  melodious  as  that  of  Eloah,  the 
angel  who  sings  the  hymn  of  the  skies  before  the  throne 
of  Jehovah.* 

"  See,  Gismonda,  how  the  sky  rejoices.  Even  if  our 
religion  had  not  taught  us  so,  our  minds  would  think  it 
the  dwelling  of  God. — Oh  !  may  it  please  Him  to  call  me 
quickly  to  its  peace  !  " 

"  Noble  Yole,  the  Lord  is  wise  in  all  His  works'  ;  He 
alone  knows  good  and  evil.  We,  adoring,  ought  to  await 
the  decrees  of  His  justice." 

"  Heaven  preserve  me  from  murmuring  against  my 
Creator,  but  the  prayers  of  the  afflicted  cannot  be  unwel- 
come before  His  throne." 

"  My  sweet  lady,  is  it  for  you  to  offer  mournful  prayers 
to  God?  For  you,  daughter  of  King  Manfred,  sister  of 
the  Queen  of  Arragon,  grandchild  of  the  Fredericks  ? 
For  you,  of  the  blood  of  the  House  of  Swabia,  placed  by 

*  The  Messiah.     Klopstock. 


Love.  23 

fortune  in  the  highest  position  that  mortal  mind  could 
wish  ?  Your  life  lies  stretched  out  before  you  like  a 
path  of  flowers  ;  pleasure  marks  your  days ;  you,  desired 
by  every  brave  knight,  you,  sighed  for  by  every  trouba- 
dour, you,  beloved  by  all,  have  not  to  fear  the  misfort- 
unes that  afflict  most  of  the  race  of  Adam." 

"  Nevertheless  I  am  such  that  nothing  remains  for  me 
to  fear  save  the  anger  of  God." 

"And  His  anger  will  not  come  ;  for  'He  tempers  the 
wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,'  and  sheds  balm  upon  the 
wounded  spirit." 

"  Gismonda,  our  House  has  been  excluded  from  the 
communion  of  the  faithful  since  the  Council  of  Lyons, 
when,  in  spite  of  the  defence  of  Taddeo  da  Suessa,  Inno- 
cent excommunicated  Frederick.  Truly,  we  may  not 
have  suffered  for  want  of  the  offices  of  the  Church,  but 
Pope  Clement  has  taken  occasion,  from  that  very  thing, 
to  confirm  the  anathema  against  us.  He  has  freed  our 
vassals  from  their  oath  of  fealty  when,  even  without  that, 
we  were  surrounded  by  only  too  many  traitors ;  he  seeks 
through  the  world  for  an  enemy  to  our  family,  and  we 
already  had  enough  who  panted  for  a  throne.  Fortune 
did  not  allow  Richard  of  Cornwall  to  accept  our  crown, 
offered  to  him  by  one  who,  unable  to  take  it  for  himself, 
gives  it  to  others,  nor  did  she  enable  Edward  of  England 
to  raise  arms  against  us ;  but  to  a  watchful  enemy,  it 
seldom  happens  that  time  does  not  bring  opportunity, 
and*  Clement  is  not  the  man  to  let  it  escape." 

"  Daughter  of  Manfred,  the  enemy  has  never  seen 
your  father  retreat ;  if  we  do  not  have  peace,  we  shall 
have  victory." 

"  Amen,  Gismonda,  amen.  But  do  you  see  that  comet 
down  near  the  horizon,  which,  rising  in  the  east,  goes 
through  the  sky  toward  the  west,  and  stops  above  us  ?  * 
Hast  thou  heard  what  astrologers  say  of  it  ?  It  is  a  cer- 

*  This  comet  appeared  in  August,  1264,  and  was  seen  till  Novem- 
ber. At  the  time  in  which  we  place  this  scene,  it  had  sunk  bel&w 
the  horizon,  for  it  disappeared  the  very  night  in  which  Urban  IV. 
died  ;  but  to  make  it  remain  a  few  months  longer  on  the  horizon  is 
hardly  worth  noticing. 


24  Love. 

tain  sign  of  the  death  of  a  king,  and  of  a  change  of  empires. 
I  think  there  is  no  one  living  who  can  bear  misfortune 
without  complaint  better  than  the  daughter  of  Manfred  : 
but  misfortune,  however  borne,  is  still  misfortune." 

"  I  would  not  call  in  question  the  influences  of  the  stars  ; 
but,  to  judge  by  the  effects  hitherto  produced  upon  the 
' earth,  it  appears  to  me  that  you  might  rather  rejoice  than 
mourn.  The  comet  appeared  in  August,  and  in  Novem- 
ber Urban  IV.  died." 

"  But  the  comet  has  not  yet  disappeared.  Believe  me, 
Gismonda,  a  great  king  must  die,  and  Charles  d'Anjou  is 
only  Count  of  Provence." 

"And  he  will  be  king  before  entering  his  kingdom. 
Must  not  his  way  lead  through  Rome  ?  There  he  will 
certainly  receive  the  crown  and  the  benediction ;  may 
the  latter  rejoice  his  soul,  for  the  former  will  never  rest 
upon  his  brow  !  " 

"Oh!  if  the  barons  of  the  kingdom  were  as  faithful 
as  they  are  powerful,  the  crown  of  Manfred  would  never 
bind  the  temples  of  Charles  : — but  here  live  traitors  innu- 
merable, and  here  more  than  anywhere  else  do  they  seem 
a  growth  natural  to  the  soil  and  sky.  Many  are  the 
enemies  of  my  father,  whom,  on  his  way  to  the  throne,  he 
has  conquered  and  pardoned  :  but  pardon  does  not  heal 
the  smart  of  wounded  pride,  nor  soften  hatred  ;  for  there 
is  nothing  in  the  world  that  humiliates  like  pardon  of  an 
enemy ;  and  at  the  first  cry  of  revolt,  you  will  see  them 
hasten  to  fight  under  the  standard  of  the  lilies  with  that 
fury  that  the  sting  of  treachery  alone  can  give.  Nor  will 
these  be  the  only  ones  to  show  their  enmity :  there  are 
men  to  whom  the  happiness  of  others  is  a  thorn ;  always 
gloomy  through  the  envy  which  torments  them  ;  woe  to 
thee,  if  thou  darest  to  show  thy  happiness  in  their  pres- 
ence !  They  mark  thee,  follow  thee,  nor  ever  leave  thee, 
till,  by  many  years  of  anguish,  thou  hast  compensated  for 
the  joy  of  a  moment.  The  sound  of  weeping  is  music  in 
their  ears,  the  cry  of  despair  their  delight ;  their  hearts 
exult  only  at  the  sight  of  ruins.  As  to  friends,  they  are 
numerous  in  prosperity  :  nor  do  I  blame  them  for  that ; 
no  !  Nature  has  implanted  in  our  hearts  a  voice  which 


Love.  25 

cries,  '  Be  happy  alone.'  Neither  do  I  reproach  them  with 
cruelty,  since  it  may  be  delightful  to  save  a  friend;  but 
when  fate  does  not  grant  it,  one  should  not  love  the  friend 
more  than  one's  self.  And  you,  my  beloved  Gismonda, 
who  have  grown  up  with  rne  from  childhood,  and  whom 
a  bond  of  mutual  love  unites  with  me  in  sisterly  sympathy, 
to  whom  now  want,  disgrace,  and  death  would  seem  as 
nothing  compared  to  being  obliged  to  leave  me  forever, 
you  likewise  may  one  day  forget  me." 

Gismonda,  overcome  by  grief,  did  not  reply  ;  she  bent 
her  head,  and  great  tears  rose  to  her  eyes  :  the  affection- 
ate girl  attempted  to  conceal  them  from  Yole,  but  her 
emotion  did  not  suffer  it.  She  turned  to  look  at  her  mis- 
tress, and,  seeing  her  unmoved,  the  bursting,  slighted  heart 
broke  through  all  restraint.  A  frequent  sob  showed  how 
deeply  the  noble  girl  was  wounded. 

Yole  looked  at  her,  and  added,  "Thus  it  is:  we  are 
hurt  at  hearing  in  words  what  will  be  proved  in  deeds. 
A  secret  and  generous  feeling,  coming  to  us  we  know 
not  whence,  teaches  us  that  it  is  right  to  share  the  mis- 
fortunes of  a  friend  ;  but  Nature  does  not  consent,  for  she 
has  formed  us  such  that  grief  is  our  bitterest  enemy,  and 
the  torments  of  anguish  can  influence  us  more  than  the 
delights  of  love.  Thus  it  is.  I  would  not  blame  you, 
my  sweet  Gismonda  ;  the  fault  comes  from  something 
far  beyond  your  power.  Who  can  dare  to  oppose  the 
voice  of  Nature  ?  We  cannot  ;  nor  do  I  wish  from  you 
more  than  you  can  give.  Gismonda,  dear  Gismonda  ! 
if  I  have  ever  shown  you  any  kindness,  if  there  is  any 
remembrance  of  me  upon  which  your  mind  can  rest  with 
pleasure,  I  pray  you,  that  when,  in  this  same  castle,  the 
voice  of  the  new  lord  shall  summon  you  to  atte'nd  his 
wife  or  daughter  (for  you  are  of  the  noblest  blood  in  the 
kingdom),  if  it  should  ever  happen  that,  blinded  by  pros- 
perity, they  should  reject  the  prayers  of  the  unfortunate, 
and  from  the  height  where  fortune  has  placed  them  they 
should  refuse  to  listen  to  the  groan  which  rises  from  the 
dust,  remind  them  that  they  are  but  dust, — that  fortune 
is  changeable, — and  then  add,  '  The  blood  of  Swabia  was 
as  illustrious  as  any  in  France  ;  the  daughter  of  Manfred 
2 


26  Love. 

was  also  illustrious,  but  the  troubadour  and  the  minstrel 
had  no  songs  which  could  delight  her  so  much  as  the 
broken  words  and  the  tears  of  the  unfortunate  whom  she 
had  comforted.'  And  if  my  name  will  avail  to  conquer 
arrogance  of  heart,  and  to  turn  the  prosperous  from  the 
ways  of  pride  into  the  path  that  leads  to  paradise,  it  will 
be  the  deepest  joy  that  can  touch  my  soul,  wherever  it 
may  please  my  Creator  to  place  it.  But  if  the  noble 
consort  and  daughter  of  the  count  should  have  hearts 
that  beat  for  the  miseries  of  humanity,  and  should  smile 
with  my  smile,  then  love  them,  Gismonda  ;  love  them  as 
you  have  loved  me  ;  do  not  sadden  them  by  narrating  my 
mournful  fate,  nor  by  the  mention  of  my  name  diminish 
a  joy  that  the  Lord  has  not  granted  me,  and  which  He 
has  bestowed  upon  them  as  more  worthy.  But  when,  far 
from  every  one,  safe  in  the  seclusion  of  your  own  cham- 
ber, you  can  freely  indulge  in  the  memory  of  the  past, 
oh  !  then,  dear  Gismonda,  then  give  me  a  sigh,  a  thought, 
a  tear  ; — I  will  surely  know  that  tear,  and  with  a  tear  I 
will  reply." 

The  beautiful  mourner  ceased,  and,  sadly  looking 
around,  she  saw  all  her  maidens  overwhelmed  with  grief, 
and  the  gentle  Gismonda  in  such  a  state  that  she  could 
no  longer  hear  such  despairing  words.  She  was  silent ; 
a  deep  stillness  pervaded  the  room  ;  the  tapers  shed  a 
pallid  light  upon  those  young  girls  in  all  the  various  atti- 
tudes of  grief.  They  appeared  like  statues  by  some 
illustrious  sculptor,  destined  to  adorn  the  tombs  of  the 
powerful. 

Yole  stood  for  a  long  time  buried  in  thought ;  then, 
starting  suddenly,  she  ran  and  threw  herself  in  Gismonda's 
arms,  and  with  tenderest  love  comforted  her,  and  with 
her  own  handkerchief  wiped  away  her  tears  ;  then  with 
a  gentle  voice  she  resumed  : 

"  Oh  !  do  not  weep,  Gismonda,  do  not  weep.  Ill- 
starred  is  she  who  forces  tears  to  the  eyes  of  beauty. — 
Holy  Virgin  !  my  misery  overfloods  my  own  soul,  and  a 
portion  of  it  must  flow  out  upon  the  souls  of  others. 
Mother  of  the  afflicted  !  too  many  pains  already  pierce 
me.  Let  it  suffice.  I  am  innocent ;  but  if  it  is  destined 


Love.  27 

that  I  should  drink  the  cup  of  sorrow,  let  not"  this  dear 
maiden    consume  her  youth  with   me.     Let    my  lot  be 
separated  from  hers  ;  I  will  suffer  alone  for  her,  for  my  • 
relations,  for  all." 

Gismonda  restrained  her  sobs,  and,  calling  a  smile  to 
her  lips,  though  a  tear  still  trembled  upon  her  long  lashes, 
she  returned  the  embrace  of  the  noble  Yole,  and  sweetly 
said  to  her : 

"  You  do  not  and  cannot  afflict  me  or  .any  one,  you, 
my  only  joy,  my  only  and  beloved  frie'nd.  *  l£ven  if 
fortune  had  placed  between  us  the  gulf  that  divides  the  . 
baron  from  the  vassal;  our  minds  would  have  felt  the 
mutual  sympathy.  However  you  may  judge  me,  I  love 
you,  Yole  ;  I  love  you  as  much  as  anything  earthly  can  be 
loved,  next  to  God  and  His  saints.  But,  by  the  love  you 
bear  the  great  queen  of  heaven,  calm  your  desperate 
grief.  Oh!  if  you  knew  what  inward  sorrow  afflicts  me" 
(and  she  pointed  to  her  breast)  "  at  seeing  the  spring  of. 
your  life  wasting,  the  flower  of  your  youth  withering,  the 
roses  fading  on  your  cheeks,  your  beautiful  eyes  growing 
dim,  surely,  kind  as  you  are,  you  would  try  not  to  give 
me  such  distress  !  Oh  !  your  sorrow,  if  Gismonda  may 
say  it,  arises  not  from  any  anticipated  evil,  but  from 
something  long  past.  The  Count  of  Provence  has  not 
yet  left  Marseilles;  nor  does  he  appear  to  me  so  much 
to  be  feared,  even  if  the  Vatican  should  bless  him  and 
arm  him  against  us ;  and  though  he  were  formidable,  a 
peril  not  yet  arrived  demands  firmness  of  heart,  not 
tears  :  for  they  are  useless  before  misfortune  comes,  weak 
and  cowardly  after.  Such  the  daughter  of  King  Manfred 
cannot  be. — This  despair  has  a  far  deeper  origin  :  some- 
thing which  is  no  longer  under  the  control  of  reason  or 
time, — a  deep  feeling  vainly  repressed,  perhaps  .  .  ." 

"  Gismonda  !  "  interrupted  Yole,  blushing,  "  there  are 
secrets  which  cannot  be  mentioned  even  between,  friends  ; 
to  seek  them  in  any  one  is  indiscreet  and  cruel ;  to  seek 
them  in  a  sovereign  is  crime.  Rulers  have  secrets 
which  cannot  be  revealed  to  any  one ;  for  to  us,  more 
than  to  the  rest  of  mankind,  Heaven  has  given  an  ex- 
quisite sense  of  dignity.  Count  Roger  and  his  noble 


28  Love. 

wife,  besieged  on  Mount  ^Etna,  had  but  one  royal  mantle 
remaining ;  nevertheless  they  did  not  proclaim  their  pov- 
erty, but  first  the  one  and  then  the  other  appeared  in 
public,  always  dressed  in  the  mantle  which  royal  blood 
cannot  appropriately  forego.  Had  my  secret  been  one 
that  I  could  reveal,  to  you  sooner  than  to  any  one  else 
would  I  have  told  it  ;  but,  since  I  did  not  tell  it  to  you, 
beware  of  seeking  to  know  it.  Let  this  suffice:  that 
were  my  right  hand  to  reveal  it  to  my  left,  I  would  imme- 
diately cut  it  off." 

The  maiden  stood  before  her  confounded,  as  if  she 
had  never  before  received  so  severe  a  reproof.  Yole 
added  gravely,  "  Jiring  me  my  scarf,  Gismonda ;  I  feel 
the  need  of  the  open  air.  All  the  rest  may  remain  ; 
Gismonda  alone  will  accompany  me  into  the  garden."- 

Gismonda  ran  to  execute  her  order  ;  but,  confused, 
hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  took  the  scarf  that  Yole 
had  worn  when  they  had  heard  in  court  of  the  death  of 
Corrado,  and  gave  it  to  her  without  raising  her  eyes. 
Yole  saw  it,  and  smiled  sadly ;  then  gently  pressing  Gis- 
monda's  arm,  she  said,  "  I  accept  the  omen  which  comes 
from  the  best-beloved  of  my  heart."  And  taking  the 
scarf,  she  wrapped  it  round  her,  and  went  towards  the 
royal  gardens. 

Gismonda,  looking  up,  perceived  her  mistake,  uttered 
a  stifled  cry,  and  followed  her  mistress,  drying  her  tears. 


The  First  Kiss. 


29 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE    FIRST    KISS. 

II  mattin  lucido  lei  sospirosa, 

Lei  sospirosa  vede  dal  tacito 

Suo  cocchio  d'ebano  la  notte  ombrosa; 
Di  tutta  1'anima  divien  signore 

Amor,  se  sola,se  inerme  travola  : 

Donzelle  tenere,  temete  Amore. 

ARMINIO,   Tragedia, 

Shining  morn  beheld  her  sighing, 

Sighing  still  the  dusky  night, 
In  its  ebon  chariot  hieing, 

Saw  her  on  its  silent  flight. 
Love  each  bosom  captive  bindeth, 
That  alone  unarmed  he  findeth. 
Gentle  maids,  beware  of  Love. 

M.  G.  M. 

FIE  phantoms  of  glory  had  abandoned  the  youth- 
ful squire  on  guard  in  the  royal  gardens ;  from 
time  to  time  he  sighed  deeply,  and  exclaimed, 
"  O  ambition  !  O  love  !  " 
As  he  uttered  these  words,  a  slight  movement  attracted 
his  attention,  and,  raising  his  eyes,  ...  is  not  this  some 
illusion  of  his  excited  mind  ?  No  : .  .  .  a  form  more  beauti- 
ful than  fancy  can  imagine  or  poetry  describe,  stood  be- 
fore him.  She  was  completely  enveloped  in  a  long  black 
scarf,  called  grimpa,  such  as,  at  that  time,  the  Sicilian 
ladies  wore,  heightening  beauty  by  its  best  ornament — 
modesty.  The  fluttering  of  her  dress,  which  revealed  the 
dear  outlines  of  that  delicate  form,  showed  that  she  was 
mortal ;  but  the  light  step,  that  hardly  bent  the  leaves  un- 
der her  feet,  made  the  spectator  doubt  whether  she  be- 
longed most  to  earth  or  heaven.  The  imaginative  poet 
would  have  called  her  the  Spirit  of  Melancholy,  who,  de- 
scending gently  by  night,  softly  murmurs  a  lament,  so  as 
not  to  awaken  the  children  of  earth,  happy  only  while 
yielding  to  sleep,  the  brother  of  death. 


3O  The  First  Kiss. 

The  Swabian  maid,  not  knowing  by  whom  that  sigh  was 
uttered,  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  to  console 
the  mourner : — for  in  what  would  kindness  of  heart  con- 
sist, if  the  cry  of  misery  were  heard  in  vain  ? 

"  Holy  Mary  of  sorrows ! "  said  she,  stepping  under 
the  arch,  where  the  rays  of  the  moon  did  not  penetrate, 
"  thy  votaries  are  too  numerous  !  .  .  .  Whose  groan  did  I 
hear?  Speak  ;  ...  if  tliou  art  unhappy,  know  that  no 
one  ever  departed  uncomforted  from  the  presence  of  the 
daughter  of  Manfred." 

She  waited  in  vain  for  a  reply  ;  the  trembling  lips  of 
the  squire  refused  their  accustomed  office  :  a  faint  breath- 
ing, but  no  articulate  sound,  could  only  be  heard. 

"  Speak  !  "  reiterated  Yole.  "  It  is  not  an  idle  wish  to 
know  thy  misfortunes  which  move  me.  If  I  had  not  the 
power  to  console  thee,  I  would  not  have  the.cruelty  to 
ask  thy  sorrows  :  for  although  curiosity  may  make  use  of 
the  language  of  compassion,  I,  for  my  part,  abhor  him 
who  aims  at  knowing  the  human  heart  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  knowing  it.  I  entreat  thee  to  speak ;  if  thy 
sorrows  can  be  consoled,  thou  shall  have  consolation 
from  Yole;  if  they  cannot  be,  await  it  from  time;  if 
even  that  cannot  avail,  await  it  .  .  ." 

"  From  death  !  "  cried  the  squire. 

What  were  the  secret  feelings  of  Yole,  at  this  voice,  at 
these  words  ?  Such  as  are  indescribable  by  human 
speech — a  thing  to  be  regretted  if  we  had  not  been  en- 
dowed with  hearts  to  feel  them.  And-  her  face  ?  The 
shadow  concealed  her  face,  but  it  was  surely  that  of  a 
creature  hurried  from  time'  into  eternity. 
*  Along  silence  ensued.  At  last- Yole,  with  a  broken 
voice,  continued  : 

"  From  religion,  Rogiero  ;  from  the  example  of  the 
Lord's  patience." 

"  Patience  !  always  patience  !  If  we  were  born  to 
suffer,  why  were  we  not  gifted  with  souls  stronger  to  en- 
dure, or  why  were  we  raised  from  the  dust,  which  cannot 
feel  when  trodden  upon,  into  forms  which  sink  under  the 
weight  of  oppression  ?  " 

"  Profound  are  the  mysteries  of  the  Creator.  .  .  .  Hope. 


The  First  Kiss.  31 

.  .  .  The  heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God,  and  He  cannot 
but  rule  justly.  . .  .  Endure  life,  not  because  it  is  a  blessing, 
but  because  death  is  unspeakable  grief." 

"  But  when  hope,  the  life  of  the  soul,  perishes,  mental 
death  will  necessarily  follow,  though  with  infinite  anguish. 
Now  there  remains  the  choice  of  enduring  it  protracted 
through  a  series  of  years,  or  of  concentrating  it  into  one 
moment,  and  dying.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  blame 
him  to  whom  Nature  has  not  given  strength  to  see  the 
point  of  the  dagger  glitter  at  his  heart,  with  the  same 
smile  with  which  another  welcomes  the  sight  of  beauty. 
But  he  who  can  should  not  be  blamed.  The  way  of 
those  who  stand  on  the  mountain-top  leads  to  the  plain  ; 
one,  trusting  his  body  to  the  slope,  slides  quickly  to  the 
end  of  the  path  ;  another  reaches  it,  walking  slowly,  try- 
ing each  step,  drawing  back,  and  trying  again.  Which  of 
them  wouldst  thou  praise,  which  blame  ?  Neither  ;  the 
one  was  bold,  the  other  cautious  ;  but  the  way  of  both  led 
to,  the  plain,  and  both  accomplished  their  journey." 

"  Rogiero,  your  words  sound  like  the  serpent's." 

"  Princess,  I  know  not  if  the  words  of  the  serpent  were 
wicked,  but  certainly  they  were  true." 

"  No — wicked  and  false.  Did  he  not  promise  to  make 
us  equal  to  God  ?  Wretched  and  betrayed  that  we  are  ! 
we  have  learned  a  hard  mystery  which  our  minds  can- 
not understand.  Most  fearful  knowledge  !  And  from  the 
barrenness  of  our  minds  dare  we  rise  rebellious  to  our 
Creator?  But  enough  ;  for  every  argument  of  salvation 
is  rejected  by  the  hardened  heart,  and  the  spirit  of  evil 
reasons  with  more  subtlety  than  the  spirit  of  good,  which 
rather  feels  the  blessing  it  enjoys  than  is  able  to  prove  it. 
But  let  us  even  suppose  that  death  would  release  the  de- 
spairing man  :  tell  me,  do  you  know  at  what  moment 
hope  dies  ?  " 

"When  present  things  appear  past,  and  past  appear 
present  ;  when,  imagining  thy  way  towards  the  east,  thou 
findest  thyself  at  the  north  ;  when  the  eyes  see  unmoved 
the  devastations  of  the  volcano,  and  the  brightness  of  the 
meadows  in  spring ;  when  the  hand  of  every  man  is 
raised  against  thee,  and  thy  hand  against  every  man,  and 


32  The  First  Kiss. 

the  blessing  of  thy  father  seems  a  curse,  and  that  of  thy 
sons  a  reproach  ;  when  the  lips  wishing  to  breathe  a 
prayer  mutter  curses,  and  the  heavens  seem  only  the 
arched  roof  of  an  earth  that  chance  has  created  and 
chance  may  destroy  ...  or  else,  the  eternal  dwelling  of. 
the  powerful  Lord  of  the  thunder  .  .  ." 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  you  blaspheme  .  .  ." 

"  I  say  that  then  hope  is  dead." 

"  This  is  the  life  of  lost  souls :  you  are  not  fallen  into 
such  a  despairing  state,  Rogiero.  Your  words  have  sunk 
into  my  soul ;  you  will  be  comforted." 

"  What !  have  you  heard  all  my  words  ?  Oh  !  do  not 
heed  them,  I  was  raving.  .  .  .  Reason  was  mad  with 
grief!  Heavens  !  is  it  fitting  for  a  gentle  maiden  to  listen 
to  the  ravings  of  .delirium  ?  " 

"I  heard,  in  passing,  no  word  uttered  but  love — " 

"  Love  ! — yes,  ,  .  .  since  you  heard  it ;  .  .  .  but  des- 
perate love  .  .  .  not  only,  .  .  .  but  powerful  enough  to 
consume  any  one  that  dares  to  nourish  it.  A  love,  the 
thought  of  which  is  a  shudder,  the  consciousness  of  it 
crime,  the  revelation  of  it  death." 

"  But  these  are  the  attributes  of  guilt ! " 

"  Men  would  call  it  so,  for  crime  appears  crime,  only 
because  it  is  followed  by  punishment ;  nevertheless  in  it- 
self it  is  not  guilty,  but  lofty  .  .  ." 

"  Rogiero,  the  troubadour  sings  often  upon  his  harp, 
that  love  can  do  much  more  than  we  can  :  it  is  not  the 
first  time  that  beauty  and  power  have  crowned  valor  ; 
nor  is  there  a  barrier  so  strong  between  lovers,  that  the 
true  knight  cannot  break  through  it  with  his  sword." 

"Be  it  so;  but  no  lady  has  girded  the  sword  to  my 
side' ;  no  baron  has  fastened  the  spurs  on  my  heel ;  the 
sword  of  my  king  has  not  touched  my  brow,  nor  has  his 
voice  admitted  me  to  the  order  of  knighthood.  I  am  an 
obscure  youth,  wearing  a  sword  as  an  ornament,  not  as 
a  weapon,  and  my  hand,  accustomed  to  hold  the  bridle  of 
a  lady's  palfrey,  knows  not  how  to  wield  the  lance." 

"  You  speak  not  the  truth,  Rogiero.  Do  you  think  that 
Yole  did  not  recognize  you  at  the  tournament  of  the 


The  First  Kiss.  33 

Sala  vcrde,*  the  day  of  my  father's  coronation  ?  Did  you 
not  wear  my  colors,  the  blue  scarf  which  I  lost  the  day 
before  ?  I  would  willingly  have  placed  the  reward  of  vic- 
tory upon  your  head,  but  you  received  only  the  praises  of 
the  ladies  in  the  tournament." 

"It  was  I,  ...  yes,  ...  it  was  I :  but  what  mortal 
power  could  conquer  the  man  who  bore  the  device  of  the 
daughter  of  Manfred  ?  Look  !  it  rests  upon  my  heart, 
and  will  feel  its  pulsations  as  long  as  it  continues  to  beat. 
I  wear  it  less  to  conquer  in  earthly  battles  than  in  those 
of  the  enemy  of  souls.  Heaven  pardon  me  !  but  I  would 
not  exchange  it  for  the  miraculous  scarf  of  Saint  Agatha,  f 
I  fought,  and  the  idea  of  fighting  for  you  was  sufficient 
reward.  I  had  never  hoped  that  it  would  be  known  to 
you.  Now  your  words  bring  me  so  much  happiness, 
that  all  the  misery  of  my  past  life  is  entirely  forgotten. — 
But  why  did  you  not  deign  me  a  look  ?  Why  did  you 
keep  your  face  always  averted  ?  The  next  day  I  touched 
your  hand  :  ...  it  trembled  ;  .  .  .  were  you  offended  at 
my  boldness  in  couching  a  lance  adorned  with  your 
colors  against  the  most  renowned  barons  in  the  king- 
dom ?  " 

"The  triumph  of  her  own  colors  never  offends  a  high- 
born lady.  But  if  your  lady-love  had  come  and  recog- 
nized you,  her  heart  would  have  bled  to  see  you  fight  for 
another.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh  !  she  was  present,  nor  was  she  displeased  .  .  ." 

"  She  was  there  !  "  cried  Yole,  pressing  her  hand  to  her 
forehead.  <:  Oh !  if,  being  present,  she  was  not  dis- 
pleased, your  love  is  ill  returned.  Tell  me  who  she  is. 
You  were  my  knight,  and  the  most  precious  duty  of  a 
noble  lady  is  to  care  for  the  life  of  him  who  has  risked  it 
in  her  honor.  Speak,  Rogiero ;  I  swear  to  you,  on  the 
faith  of  the  blood  of  Swabia,  as  much  as  in  me  lies  to 
make  you  happy." 

"  Spirit  of  evil  !  how  cruelly  your  flatteries  tempt  us 
here  on  earth  !  " 

*  A  place  in  which  tournaments  were  held  in  Palermo, 
f  The  miraculous  scarf  of  Saint  Agatha,  the  mere  sight  of  which 
stopped  the  fiery  lava  of  Mount  yEtna  when  it  threatened  Catania. 


34  The  First  Kiss. 

"  What  are'  you  muttering,  Rogiero  ?  Am  I  impor- 
tunate ?  Do  you  scorn  my  promises  ?  Does  my  voice 
weary  you  ?  Ah  !  pardon  me,  and  attribute  it  to  the 
great  love  and  sympathy  I  feel  for  ...  all  who  are  un- 
happy." 

Thus  spoke  Yole  ;  and  these  last  words,  as  they  fell  from 
h«r  lips,  were  so  low  as  hardly  to  be  heard.  Sad,  dejected, 
already  she  was  turning  to  leave  the  place,  when  Rogiero, 
like  one  beside  himself,  sprang  toward  her,  and,  violently 
seizing  her  arm,  drew  her  from  under  the  arch  into  the 
moonlight :  there,  throwing  down  his  helmet,  he  placed 
her  hand  by  force  upon  his  uncovered  forehead,  and,  hold- 
ing it  there,  he  said  in  a  broken  voice,  "  How  does  my 
forehead  feel,  Yole  ?  " 

"  May  all  the  saints  in  paradise  preserve  you  ! "  hesitat- 
ingly replied  the  daughter  of  Manfred,  "it  is  as  cold  as 
sepulchral  marble." 

"  It  should  be.  Hear  me,  divine  maiden  ;  hear  the  words 
of  one  who  will  know  how  to  punish  himself  for  having 
spoken.  I  myself,  in  the  fervor  of  my  prayers,  in  the  rag- 
ing of  my  madness,  have  uttered  a  wish  not  granted  till 
this  moment.  '  Give  me,'  I  cried,  to  whom  I  knew  not, 
'give  me  one  moment  of  joy,  and  I  will  resign  my  life.' 
Now,  whether  by  chance  or  by  fate,  this  moment  is  come; 
is  passed  ;  nor  have  I  fortitude  to  endure  longer,  perhaps  in 
vain,  the  torment  of  life.  Grant  a  dying  man  one  out- 
burst of  words  and  tears  ;  they  will  not  offend  thee  ;  and 
even  if  they  did,  will  not  my  death  be  sufficient  expiation  ?  " 

"  Rogiero  .  .  ." 

"  Yole,  dost  thou  know  how  long  I  have  borne  thine 
image  in  my  heart  ?  It  was  there  before  it  began  to 
beat  ;  .  .  .  before  I  ever  saw  thee  I  loved  thee.  In  the 
path  of  life  I  have  seen  the  .beautiful  daughters  of  men, 
and  I  have  turned  my  eyes  to  the  earth,  perceiving  that 
from  that  they  were  created.  I  have  seen  the  haughty 
one,  in"  the  pride  of  her  beauty,  and  have  passed  her  by. 
I  have  seen  the  blush  of  timid  love,  and  have  not  sighed; 
And  I  said  to  myself,  '  Heart  of  iron,  is  there  no  grace 
of  love  that  can  move  thee  ? '  But  my  spirit  was  entranced 
by  an  image  of  beauty,  which  I  had  formed  from  no  mor- 


The  First  Kiss,  35 

tal  likeness  ;  perhaps  it  had  presented  itself  to  my  mind, 
when,  restored  by  repose,  and  about  to  return  to  the  func- 
tions of  life,  its  dreams  are  as  bright  as  the  roses  of  dawn. 
I  longed  with  anguish  for  the  creation  of  my  fancy,  and 
often,  in  the  delirium  of  my  passion,  I  addressed  it  in 
words.  '  O  form  divine  ! '  I  said  to  it,  '  dost  thou 
really  exist  ?  Oh  !  do  not  disappear  at  the  first  ray  of 
the  rising  sun  !  For  thy  sake,  I  will  forever  renounce  its 
light.  Come,  heavenly  visitant,  sylph,  gnome,*  angel,  or 
demon,  come  and  bless  my  life,  and  then  Rogiero  will  love  ! 
Yole,  .  .  .  one  day  I  saw  thee  .  .  .  Throne  of  heaven ! 
Thy  features  were  those  of  my  ideal ! ' ' 

"  Rogiero,"  said  Yole,  drawing  herself  up  with  majesty, 
"  are  these  words  which  a  faithful  servant  should  speak  to 
the  daughter  of  his  sovereign  ? — which  the  niece  of  the 
Empress  Constance  should  hear?" 

';  I  know  not,  princess,  if  it  is  well  for  you  to  listen  to 
them,  but  I  know  well  that  it  was-  a  crime  in  me  to  utter 
them." 

"  You  are  pardoned.  .  .  .  Live;  .  .  .  place  your  love 
upon  some  more  fortunate  maiden,  who  can  return  it ;  ... 
forget  me."  She  said  this  with  a  choking  voice  ;  then  she 
added,  with  more  sorrow,  "  Rogiero,  so  great  is  the  distance 
in  this  world  between  us,  that  you  can  hope  to  be  united 
to  me  only  in  heaven,  where,  every  hateful  distinction 
lost,  we  shall  all  be  equal  in  the  love  of  One." 

"  I  knew  this,  and  therefore  I  loved  you  without  hope, 
and  without  hope  I  disclosed  my  heart's  secrets.  It  is 
true  that  love  can  do  more  than  we  can  ;  but  it  is  also 
true  that  there  are  barriers  impossible  to  overthrow  ;  and 
ye,  proud  ones,  raised  by  injustice  or  by  chance  to  the 
thrones  of  earth,  ye  think  that  ye  have  omnipotent  empire 
over  immortal  souls.  Ye  should  know  that  the  soul  has 
wounds  that  no  earthly  power  can  heal  !  Ought  I  accuse 
thee  of  presumption,  in  having  wished  to  know  an  evil 
that  thou  couldst  not  cure,  and  make  thee  feel  that  thou 
art  dust,  crowned  indeed,  but  dust  ?  No  ;  let  thy  gener- 

*  Sylphs,  spirits  of  air  ;  gnomes  of  earth,  as  Undines  of  water?, 
and  Salamanders  of  fire. 


36  The  First  Kiss. 

cms  intentions  and  the  flattery  of  power  that  make  thee 
presumptuous  excuse  thee  ;  and  more,  that  I  am  long  since 
prepared  for  death,  and  am  perfectly  desperate.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  should  have  died  with  a  weight  upon 
my  soul,  keeping  my  love  concealed  ;  now,  since  I  have 
been  able  to  reveal  it,  it  seems  as  if  the  earth  would  rest 
more  lightly  on  me  in  the  grave. — Yole,  religion  and  the 
heart  teach  us  of  a  second  and  eternal  life  ;  the  mind  given 
up  to  rash  thoughts  would  deny  it.  However  that  may  be, 
what  I  now  ask  of  thee,  with  the  most  earnest  prayer  of 
my  agonized  mind,  will  gladden  either  my  soul,  if  it  sur- 
vives my  body,  or  the  mom'ent  of  my  departure  from  liv- 
ing things : — one  sigh  I  beg  from  thee,  one  single  sigh. 
Let  it  be  even  too  brief  for  time  to  measure,  it  will  be  an 
eternity  of  happiness  to  him  for  whom  it  was  breathed  ; 
and  when,  the  happy  wife  of  some  powerful  one  of  earth, 
thou  shalt  see  the  spoils  of  conquered  nations  at  the  foot 
of  thy  throne,  and  thyself  raised  to  such  a  height,  that 
next  to  God,  men  turn  to  thee  their  prayers  and  vows, 
and  thou  wilt  hear  thy  husband  call  thee  the  beloved  of  his 
heart,  and  tell  thee  that  'twas  through  thee  he  adorned 
his  brows  with  laurel,  through  thee  he  won  the  highest 
prize  that  glory  can  bestow  on  man,  that  in  thy  name  he 
fought,  and  in  thy  name  conquered, — oh  !  then  give  a 
thought  to  the  poor  Rogiero  who  loved  thee  so  much, 
and  remember  with  a  sigh,  '  thus  he  too  loved  me  ; '  and 
thou  wilt  weep,  and,  at  the  history  of  my  sad  fate,  perhaps 
thy  noble  husband  will  also  weep.  No  other  joy  remains 
for  me  in  this  life  but  the  hope  of  a  tear  shed  on  my 
grave.  Yole,  the  hour  of  my  death  is  come  ;  pray  for 
the  departing  spirit  whose  last  thoughts  cannot  be  of  God." 

Pale  as  one  who  is  led  to  execution,  but  firm  in  his 
mad  design,  Rogiero  drew  his  dagger,  and  was  about  to 
plunge  it  into  his  heart. 

Had  not  Yole  endured  the  fiercest  struggle  that  woman 
can  or  will  endure  ?  Would  it  have  been  right  for  her  to 
bear  this  last  trial,  even  had  she  possessed  the  power  ? 
Her  repressed  passion  broke  impetuously  forth,  for  pas- 
sions partake  of  the  nature  of  fire  ;  and  the  beautiful  girl, 
almost  beside  herself  with  grief,  hardly  knowing  what  she 


The  First  Kiss.  37 

did,  threw  her  arms  round  Rogiero's  neck,  placing  her- 
self between  the  dagger  and  his  breast.  So  rapid  was 
the  action,  that  ere  he  could  sufficiently  change  the  direc-, 
tion  of  the  blow",  it  had  struck  her  right  shoulder,  cutting 
through  her  dress  and  slightly  grazing  the  skin.  The 
dagger  fell,  but  they  remained  embraced ;  their  hearts 
beat  together ;  .  .  .  their  tears  mingled  in  falling  ;  .  .  . 
their  cheeks,  their  lips  touched,  and  the  first  kiss  of  love 
was  given. 

But  why  did  they  remain  thus  embraced  ?  Oh !  is 
there  a  joy  on  this  earth  which,  in  the  opinion  of  lovers, 
has  power,  not  to  surpass,  but  to  equal,  their  embrace  ? 
Where  is  the  pride  of  birth  ?  Where  the  fear  of  punish- 
ment ?  They  have  nothing  more  either  to  fear  or  to  wish. 
This  ecstasy  has  passed,  nor  will  it  ever  return.  Time, 
which  they  have  forgotten,  has  not  ceased  to  run  its  course, 
and,  mingling  that  brief  moment  of  happiness  with  the  past, 
hastens  to  bring  the  misfortunes  that  are  to  darken  the 
rest  of  their  lives. 

Queen  Elena,  wife  of  Manfred,  although  somewhat  proud 
of  her  noble  blood  (she  was  descended  from  the  Com- 
neni  of  Epirus),  was,  nevertheless,  a  most  affectionate 
mother.  A  daughter  and  a  son  had  blessed  her  marriage. 
Constance,  her  step-daughter,  child  of  Manfred's  first  wife, 
Beatrice  of  Savoy,  already  wore  the  royal  crown,  having 
married  Peter,  son  of  James,  the  powerful  King  of  Ar- 
r ago n  ;  but  there  still  remained  at  home  Yole  and  Man- 
fredino,  a  most  beautiful  boy,  the  hope  of  his  father, 
hardly  ten  years  old.  But  Elena's  greatest  tenderness  was 
for  Yole,  whom  she  considered  unhappy  ;  nor  could  she, 
by  any  efforts,  draw  her  from  her  obstinate  dejection. 
She  was  majestic  in  appearance,  and  formerly  as  beauti- 
ful as  her  daughter  Yole,  except  that  "the  thin  veil  of 
melancholy"  as  the  good  Pellico  says,  cast  over  her,  made 
her  to  be  considered  an  object  of  reverence  rather  than 
of  lov.e.  On  this  same  evening,  the  queen  was  sitting 
beside  Manfredino's  little  bed,  and  when  she  perceived 
that  the  sleep  of  innocence  had  come  to  his  eyes,  she  rose 
carefully,  and,  stopping  to  observe  the  peace -that  breathed 
from  the  face  of  that  dear  cherub,  she  felt  a  tear  spring  to 


38  The  First  Kiss. 

her  eyes  ;  then  bending  lightly  over  him  and  kissing  his 
forehead,  she  murmured,  "  God  knows  that  I  love  thee 
also,  my  sweet  little  child ;  but  thy  dreams  are  those  of 
the  happy.  May  the  Eternal  in  His  mercy  long  grant  thee 
these  dreams  ! "  Then  leaving  him  to  the  care  of  some  of 
her  ladies  in  waiting,  she  went  to  the  chamber  of  her  be- 
loved daughter. 

Learning  that  Yole  was  in  the  garden,  she  followed  her 
thither,  where  she  met  Gismonda.  This  latter,  absorbed 
in  sad  thoughts  caused  by  the  previous  conversation  with 
Yole,  had  wandered  on  alone.  On  the  queen  inquiring 
where  the  princess  was,  she  could  only  reply  confusedly, 
''  She  has  strayed  among  the  myrtle-bushes."  They  went 
together  in  search  of  her,  and,  approaching  the  great  gate 
which  led  out  of  the  garden,  they  perceived  her  stretched 
upon  the  grass,  her  dress  torn  and  clotted  with  blood. 
Queen  Elena,  thinking  her  dead,  threw  herself  down  be- 
side her  in  dreadful  anxiety  to  feel  if  her  heart  yet  beat : 
it  did,  though  very  feebly  :  then  looking  at  the  wound, 
?he  perceived  that  it  was  a  mere  scratch,  probably  caused 
by  the  brambles  of  the  bush  she  had  fallen  upon  in  a 
swoon. 

"  Run  to  the  fountain,  Gismonda,  and  bring  some 
water,"  cried  she  to  her  maid. 

Gismonda  went.  Queen  Elena,  sitting  down  on  the 
grass,  drew  her  daughter  into  her  lap,  loosened  her  dress, 
and  put  her  hand  on  her  forehead,  looking  sorrowfully  at 
her.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  but  still  she  was  beautiful. 
The  moon  shone  on  her  with  a  mild  jadiance,  and  ap- 
peared to  take  pleasure  in  illuminating  that  face  gentle  as 
us  own  light.  "  Poor  child  !  "  said  she,  sobbing  from  time 
to  time  ;  but,  when  her  tears  so  blinded  her  that  she  could 
no  longer  see  that  dear  face,  she  .raised  her  eyes  to  heaven, 
saying : 

"  Accept,  O  Lord  !  this  sacrifice  of  tears :  they  come 
from  a  soul  grieved  to  its  very  depths.  Oh  !  from  the 
birth  of  this  unhappy  child,  I  have  not  known  an  hour  of 
peace.  Poor  Yole  !  thou  wast  born  for  misfortune.  .  .  . 
But  .  .  .  omnipotent  God !  if  Thou  knewest  what  it  is 
for  a  mother  to  see  these  cheeks,  upon  which  the  roses  of 


The  First  Kiss.  39 

youth  are  not  yet  blossomed,  fade  so  early  away,  these 
limbs,  not  yet  developed,  become  every  day  weaker, 
Thou  wouldst  not  thus  afflict  me.  Poor  innocent !  Her 
soul  knows  no  sin,  and  yet  a  dreadful  punishment  op- 
presses her ;  a  secret  torment,  which  she  neither  under- 
stands nor  can  drive  away,  poisons  her  life,  for  Thou  art 
mysterious  in  Thy  ways.  .  .  ." 

Gismonda  now  returned  from  the  fountain  with  her 
hands  bent  like  a  cup ;  but  she  had  hurried  so  that  only 
a  few  drops  of  water  remained  in  them  :  nevertheless, 
sprinkled  on  Yole's  face,  they  were  sufficient  to  restore  her 
to  her  senses.  The  maiden  languidly  opened  her  eyes, 
and,  sighing  deeply,  asked, 

"  Where  am  I  ?  " 

"  In  thy  mother's  arms  !  " 

"  Oh  !  would  that  I  had  never  been  born  !  " 

"  What !  dost  thou  repulse  thy  own  mother  ?  O  Yole, 
Yole  !  cease  to  give  me  such  sorrows.  .  .  .  Speak  ;  tell  me  ; 
what  is  it  grieves  thee  so  sadly  ?  Lodge  thy  secrets  here  in 
my  heart — in  the  heart  of  thy  mother,  who  would  give  her 
life  to  see  thee  happy.  Thy  sister  is  so  already,  and  if  I 
could  make  thee  also,  the  day  of  my  death  would  be  the 
most  fortunate  of  my  life." 

"  My  sister  Constance,"  replied  Yole  in  a  solemn  voice, 
"  is,  and  will  long  be,  happy.  It  has  pleased  Heaven  to 
separate  the  cause  of  the  daughter  of  Beatrice  of  Savoy 
from  the  cause  of  the  daughter  of  Elena  of  Epirus. 
Upon  me,  .  .  .  upon  us,  weighs  a  heavy  destiny.  We 
shall  die  unwept,  we  shall  lie  unburied,  a  monument  of  pity, 
envy,  and  cruelty.  Why  weary  yourself,  O  mother  !  in 
seeking  within  me  the  cause  of  my  sorrow  ?  Raise  your 
eyes  ;  the  cause  of  our  sorrow  is  shining  in  the  sky  !  .  .  ." 

Elena  raised  her  eyes  to  the  horizon,  and  saw,  or 
seemed  to  see,  the  comet  flash  its  rays  threateningly  upon 
her.  She  could  not  bear  the  sight,  but,  with  averted  face, 
passed  her  arm  through  that  of  Yole,  and,  sadly  silent, 
took  the  path  toward  the  castle. 

Gismonda  followed  them,  softly  murmuring  a  prayer 
for  peace  upon  the  afflicted  souls  of  her  beloved  mis- 
tresses. 


4O  Injury. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

INJURY. 

Che  temi,  animo  inio,  che  pur  paventi  ? 
Accogli  ogni  tua  forza  alia  vendetta, 
E  cosa  fa  si  inusitata  e  nuova, 
Che  questa  etade  1'abborrisca,  e  Paltra 
Che  venir  dee  crederla  possa  appena  .  .  . 
Sono  innocenti  i  figli  ?  Sieno, — sono 
Figli  di  traditore. 

ORBECCHE,  Tragedia  Antica. 

Why  fearest  thou,  why  tremble  thus,  my  soul  ? 

Collect  thy  every  faculty  for  vengeance, 

And  be  it  so  unheard  of — unexpected, 

That  this  age  shall  abhor  it,  and  the  next  .   . 

Shall  hardly  have  the  faith  to  think  it  true. 

His  sons,  perhaps,  are  guiltless  ? — yet  they  are 

Sons  of  a  traitor. 

M.  G.  M. 

N  the  western  part  of  the  castle  of  Count  Ca- 
serta  was  a  small,  remote  room,  which  no  one, 
however  bold,  dared  to  enter.  The  servants, 
whenever  it  was  necessary  to  pass  by  it  during  the 
night,  cast  lots  to  determine  who  should  go,  and  he  whose 
name  was  drawn  always  heard  the  announcement  with 
a  shudder ;  and  though  he  recommended  himself  to  his 
patron  saint,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  yet  he 
would  always  approach  it  fearfully,  without  turning  his 
head,  with  hasty  steps,  whispering  an  exorcism.  This 
was  not  without  a  cause,  since  tradition  related  that  there 
had  been  committed  a  most  terrible  crime  ;  cries,  waitings, 
and  frightful  bowlings  were  often  heard  there.  There 
were  some,  even,  who  would  swear  that  they  had  seen  a 
female  spectre  with  a  poniard  in  her  breast,  from  which 
gushed  a  stream  of  blood,  crying,  with  a  mournful  voice, 
"  My  son  !  my  son  !  "  In  truth,  to  the  natural  horror  of 
the  place  were  added  the  fanciful  fears  of  ignorant  and 
superstitious  minds. 


Injury.  41 

This  room  appeared  internally  a  little  less  than  ten 
feet  square  ;  a  complete  cube.  Its  walls,  ceiling,  and 
floor  were  all  covered  with  black.  In  it  there  was  no 
furniture  of  any  kind,  neither  chair  nor  table  ;  only  a 
lamp,  hung  with  black  and  suspended  from  the  ceiling, 
shed  around  a  dismal  light.  There  was  no  trace  of  any 
window.  In  the  southern  wall  could  be  seen  a  recess,  of 
Gothic  architecture,  and  this  also  black,  though  whether  of 
marble  or  of  wood  the  chronicle  does  not  say.  The  as- 
pect of  this  recess  was  such  as  to  suggest  that  it  was  des- 
tined to  be. used  as  an  oratory,  although  it  could  not  be 
discerned  to  whom  it  was  dedicated,  for  there  was  neither 
a  saint  nor  a  Madonna. 

Near  the  recess  stood,  motionless,  a  man  of  more  than 
common  height,  wrapped  in  a  tunic  oT  dark  cloth  fas- 
tened tight  round  his  waist.  His  aspect — oh  !  his  aspect 
was  such  that  whoever  had  beheld  it  would  ever  after  con- 
tinually pray  that  God,  in  His  infinite  mercy,  would  grant 
him  forgetfulness  of  that  countenance.  The  sensation 
which  the  sight  inspired  cannot  be  described,  except  by 
comparing  it  to  that  which  would  affect  the  heart  of  a  swim- 
mer if  he  should  hear  the  wild  howl  of  the  sea-monster. 
The  hues  of  disease  and  fear  were  imprinted  on  his  brow  ; 
his  cheeks  were  emaciated,  his  lips  swollen  and  livid.  No 
spark  which  would  indicate  life  shone  in  his  sunken, 
fixed,  and  glassy  eyes.  Angels  of  heaven  !  they  seemed 
these  of  a  vampire.  His  immobility  and  his  listless 
attitude  would  give  the  idea  of  a  corpse  placed  against 
the  wall  to  excite  to  penitence,  by  such  a  frightful  spec- 
tacle, those  who  entered  there  to  pray  ;  *  but  on  ap- 
proaching him,  his  heavy  breathing'  and  a  convulsive 
quivering  of  his  upper  lip  showed  that  he  was  alive. 

After  he  had  remained  thus  for  a  long  time,  he  began 
to  walk  about  the  room  ;  but  his  mind,  absorbed  in  other 
thoughts,  did  not  direct  his  movements.  His  body  was 
the  same  as  we  have  described  above,  except  that  it 
moved,  but  its  steps  had  no  object.  Now  he  would 
go  straight  to  the  wall,  and,  knocking  against  it,  he  would 

*  A  Sicilian  custom. 


42  Injury. 

draw  back  ;  now,  having  reached  the  middle  of  the  room, 
he  would  turn  to  the  right  or  left ;  often  he  would  turn 
suddenly  round.  I  have  seen  the  somnambulist  and 
the  maniac,  but  there  exists  nothing  in  the  world  that 
could  equal  the  horror  that  this  man  inspired. 

With  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  ceiling,  he  moved  sud- 
denly toward  the  recess ;  groping  about  through  it,  he 
succeeded  in  finding  a  little  knob  hardly  perceptible  ; 
he  pulled  it,  and  a  secret  opening  appeared,  from  which 
he  took  a  black  box  finely  adorned  with  silver  mount- 
ings. Searching  then  among  the  folds  of  his  garments,  he 
found  the  key  ;  his  hands,  having  become  almost  par- 
alytic, wandered  a  long  time  before  he  was  able  to  find 
the  key-hole.  Succeeding  at  last  in  opening  the  box,  a 
human  skull  appeared,  preserved  most  neatly,  and  with 
the  utmost  care.  He  took  it  out  with  both  hands,  and, 
placing  it  upon  a  table  in  the  recess,  fell  heavily  before 
it,  his  face  toward  the  ceiling  and  his  arms  crossed  in 
the  attitude  of  prayer. 

He  had  remained  fully  an  hour  in  this  position,  when, 
lowering  his  head,  he  gazed  intently  upon  the  skull.  His 
eyes,  before  glassy,  burned  now  with  a  terrible  fire ; 
soon  they  became  red,  sparkling,  but  no  tears  fell  from 
them  ;  perhaps  his  despair  had  exhausted  even  this  last 
comfort  of  misfortune.  His  lips  endeavored  to  utter 
words,  but  could  send  forth  only  inarticulate  sounds. 
This  was  the  hour  of  the  hurricane  of  the  soul,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  expression.  Such  deep  convulsions,  like 
everything  else  out  of  nature's  course,  cannot  last  long, 
but,  like  the  hurricane,  they  leave,  wherever  they  pass,  in- 
delible traces,  and  everything  entirely  changed.  This 
man,  who  at  first  had  seemed  like  a  corpse  recalled  to  some 
function  of  life  by  force  of  necromancy,  now  had  become 
all  motion  and  activity.  His  face,  pale  at  first,  burned 
now  with  a  feverish  glow  ;  his  limbs  had  become  con- 
vulsed ;  he  strained  himself  continually  in  different  atti- 
tudes, although  he  dared  not  rise  from  before  that  skull, 
which  he  seemed  to  worship. 

Nor  was  it  long  before  those  indistinct  wailings  ap- 
proached to  something  like  human  speech  ;  then,  had  any 


.  Injury.  43 

one  been  courageous  enough  to  listen,  he  would  have 
heard  these  words  : 

"Behold  !  here  were  those  lips  that  smiled  so  sweetly  ; 
.  .  .  the  naked  jaw-bones  seem  to  smile  still ;  yes,  .  .  . 
but  with  the  smile  of  the  serpent,  when,  having  deceived 
the  mother  of  men,  he  heard  her,  with  all  future  genera- 
tions, condemned  .to  death.  Here  were  set  the  sad  yet 
beautiful  eyes ; .  •.  .  here  the  white  forehead  and  rosy 
cheeks.  .  .  .  Now  what  remains  of  so  much  beauty  ? 
Naked  bones.  .  .  .  The  fairest  part  of  the  body  was  con- 
sumed by  quick  dissolution ;  .  .  .  the  bones  remain  ;  .  .  . 
the  bones,  a  frightful  witness  of  death. — Oh !  in  pity  to 
me,  ...  in  pity  to  thyself,  why  didst  thou  not  feign  ?  .  .  . 
My  soul  groans,  horribly  oppressed.  I  lie  upon  a  bed  of 
fire,  from  which  I  cannot  rise,  and  upon  which,  in  spite 
of  all  the  torments  of  this  life  and  eternal  perdition,  I 
would  willingly  lie.  .  .  .  O  bitter  fruit  of  revenge  not  yet 
fully  accomplished  !  I  cannot  give  up  my  portion  in 
heaven,  for  it  has  long  since  been  closed  against  me ; 
nor  the  intellect,  which  is  half  lost ; — but  I  would  con- 
sent to  be  eternally  transported  by  the  winds  of  earth, 
dashed  by  the  angry  waves  against  the  rocks  of  the  sea, 
tossed  about  for  countless  ages  in  the  abysses  of  chaos, 
burnt  perpetually  by  the  fire  of  heaven,  tormented  with 
all  the  anguish  which  human  or  infernal  mind  can  imag- 
ine, could  I  but  obtain  complete  revenge.  .  .  .  This  wish 
will  grieve  the  soul  that  dwelt  in  this  skull.  .  .  .  Oh  !  this 
is  a  new  torment,  and  at  the  same  time  a  new  incitement 
for  me." 

While  he  thus  wildly  talked  to  himself,  the  door  of  the 
room  was  softly  opened,  and  a  man  richly  dressed  en- 
tered, who,  placing  himself  unobserved  beside  the  kneel- 
ing one,  stood  a  long  time  without  speaking,  listening  to 
the  words  which  we  have  just  recited. 

The  masters  of  the  art  say  that  the  exact  description 
of  the  appearance  and  dress  of  a  person,  which  they  call 
prosopography,  helps  wonderfully  in  riveting  attention  to 
the  narrative.  We  know  not  how  much  truth  there  may 
be  in  this,  but,  as  the  masters  ahvaj^  deserve  respect,  we 
do  not  hesitate  for  a  moment  to  describe  this  new  person- 


44  Injury. 

age,  protesting  that  should  it  not  be  agreeable  to  some 
of  our  readers,  they  should  attribute  the  fault  to  the  mas- 
ters, who  taught  me  this  rhetorical  figure. 

This  new  person,  then,  who,  as  I  have  said,  silently 
and  almost  stealthily  entered  the  room  where  the  other 
was  lamenting,  was  about  five  feet  high,  more  or  less, 
very  slender,  and  made  even  more  so  by  vicious  habits. 
Perhaps  he  did  not  number  many  years,  yet  he  appeared 
to  have  arrived  prematurely  at  that  point  at  which,  ascent 
being  no  longer  possible,  decline  necessarily  commences. 
His  head,  somewhat  bald  upon  the  forehead,  was  I  know 
not  whether  adorned  or  disfigured  by  a  few  straight,  red 
hairs,  each  one  of  wh%h  seemed  to  rise  purposely  in  an 
opposite  direction  from  that  of  its  neighbor,  presenting  a 
perfect  image  of  that  head  which  a  modern  poet  with  so 
much  force  of  expression  describes  : 

"  E'en  as  the  grain,  in  wild  confusion  cast, 
Tossed  by  the  sudden  fury  of  the  blast."* 

He  never  held  his  head  erect  when  in  the  presence  of 
any  one ;  only  from  time  to  time  he  would  catch  a 
stealthy,  sidelong  glance,  and  immediately,  as  if  afraid 
that  his  small  gray  eyes  would  reveal  the  thoughts  of  his 
heart,  he  would  lower  them.  His  lips,  closely  com- 
pressed, gave  the  assurance  to  every  close  observer  of 
the  human  countenance  that  he  feared  lest,  in  spite  of 
himself,  some  word  might  escape  which  would  lead  him 
directly  to  the  gallows.  It  is  true,  however,  that  a  habit 
which  he  could  not  check  forced  them  sometimes  to 
stretch  towards  his  ears,  and  his  cheeks  to  fold  in  most 
minute  wrinkles  :  then  he  seemed  to  smile.  May  all  the 
saints  in  heaven  preserve  us  from  such  a  smile  !  He 
spoke  slowly  and  bitterly,  and  because  the  tranquillity  of 
his  own  mind  was  destroyed,  he  enjoyed  exceedingly 
destroying  that  of  others.  If  at  that  time  the  angel  of 
darkness  had  taken  a  fancy  to  appear  in  the  world  in  a 

*  "  Ad  un  campo  di  biada  gia  matura, 
Nel  cui  mezzo  passata  e  la  tempesta." 


Injury.  45 

suitable  form,  surely  he  could  not  have  imagined  a  more 
appropriate  one  than  that  of  Count  della  Cerra. 

His  dress  consisted  of  a  coat  of  green  velvet,  richly 
embroidered  with  silver  and  lined  with  fur,  reaching  to 
his  knee  and  opened  at  the  sides ;  a  belt,  in  the  centre 
of  which  was  the  eagle  of  King  Manfred,  of  massive  silver 
upon  blue  enamel,  bound  it  to  his  waist ;  at  the  breast 
it  was  also  open,  and  the  sleeves  did  not  come  below  the 
elbow.  His  underdress  was  of  silk  of  various  colors,  and 
adorned  with  numerous  silver  buttons  ;  the  sleeves  were 
narrow,  and  reached  the  wrist.  The  linen  which  covered 
a  great  part  of  his  breast  and  shoulders  was  a  work 
of  marvellous  embroidery.  A  clo?e -fitted  crimson  cloth 
covered  his  thin  legs.  His  shoes  also  were  red,  very 
pointed,  fastened  in  the  middle  with  a  silver  button. 
This  was  very  nearly  his  costume,  although,  for  the  sake 
of  brevity,  we  have  left  many  things  unmentioned :  such 
as  the  cap,  in  the  shape  of  an  imperial  crown,  adorned 
with  beautiful  feathers  ;  the  gold  chain,  by  which  a  rich 
medallion  was  suspended  on  his  breast ;  and  a  sword  of 
extreme  length,  with  its  hilt  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  those  who  went  to  the  Holy  Land, 
who  used  it  thus,  that  at  the  hour  of  prayer,  the  sword 
fixed  in  the  sand,  presenting  the  symbol  of  faith,  might 
incite  them  to  the  conquest  of  the  country  of  our  Re- 
deemer, who  died  for  our  salvation  upon  this  instrument 
of  pain. 

The  kneeling  one,  turning  his  head,  saw  beside  him  this 
man,  who,  enjoying  his  misery,  had  not  been  able  to 
repress  that  sardonic  smile  of  which  we  spoke  before  ; 
his  hand  rose  involuntarily  to  his  head,  and  he  began  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  which  he  in  vain  endeavored  to  complete  ; 
then  he  lowered  his  head,  and  Vnurmured  .  .  .  perhaps  a 
prayer ;  but  certainly  it  was  pronounced  with  the  bitter- 
ness of  a  curse.  A  moment  after  raising  his  face  again, 
he  met  once  more  the  face  of  him,  who  knew  not  how  to 
express  his  compassion  but  by  his  smile,  arid  he  turned 
his  glance  back  to  the  skull,  .  .  .  then  to  him,  .  .  . 
then  to  the  skull,  .  .  .  and  then  to  him  again  ;  nor  did  that 
smile  cease.  .  .  .  Suddenly  starting  to  his  feet,  he  grasped 


46  Injury. 

him  by  the  throat,  and,  furiously  prostrating  him  upon  the 
ground,  he  placed  his  knees  upon  his  breast,  and  made  a 
motion  to  strangle  him.  The. life  of  Count  della  Cerra 
would  soon  have  ended,  if  chance  had  not  helped  him. 
The  skull,  shaken  by  his  fall,  dropped  to  the  ground, 
making  a  noise  which  sounded  like  a  lamenting  cry,  and 
rolled  directly  under  the  eyes  of  him  who  held  the  count 
by  the  throat ;  forgetting  everything  else,  he  relinquished 
his  hold,  ran  eagerly  to  pick  it  up,  looked  at  it  carefully 
to  see  if  it  had  received  any  injury,  and,  quick  as  lightning, 
replaced  it  in  the  box,  and  then  in  the  recess.  In  the 
meantime,  Count  della  Cerra  having  risen,  arranged  his 
disordered  garments,  showing  in  his  livid  face  the  fear 
caused  by  the  danger  which  he  had  thus  escaped. 

"  Count  di  Caserta,"  said  Count  della  Cerra,  after  a 
little  while,  approaching  the  door  of  the  room,  "  tell  me,  if 
you  please,  how  would  you  treat  your  enemies,  if  you 
behave  thus  towards  your  friends  and  faithful  servants?" 

"  Anselmo,"  replied  Count  di  Caserta,  "  have  I  told 
you  to  mock  my  misery  and  grief,  and  excite  in  my  soul  a 
rage  fiercer  than  my  remorse  ?  Complain  of  yourself,  for 
you  know  the  passions  that  rave  within  me  ;  they  have ' 
been  burning  for  a  long  time — but  my  heart  is  not  yet 
entirely  ashes." 

"Complain  of  nature,  Count  di  Caserta,  that  made  me 
smile  when  others  weep.  But  does  it  seem  to  you  a  thing 
to  weep  at,  to  see  you  tormenting  yourself  every  night 
before  an  inanimate  skull,  that,  cannot  hear  your  anathe- 
mas or  your  prayers,  and  can  neither  curse  nor  pardon 
you  ?  I  have  already  told  you  a  thousand  times,  and  I 
now  repeat  it,  you  will  lose  your  reason." 

"And  is  it  worth  preserving?  Would  it  be  an  evil  to 
lose  it?  Remorse  lives  with  it,  and  would  survive  it,  if  it 
were  lost.  Once  I  had  it  entire,  capable  of  comprehend- 
ing everything,  nor  was  I  less  unhappy  than  I  am  ;  nor  now, 
that  I  have  more  than  half  lost  it,  do  I  feel  any  happier." 

"  But  come,  allow  me  for  once  to  remove  those  bones, 
the  sight  of  which  is  daily  destroying  your  reason.  Con- 
sider, finally,  that  it  was  the  head  of  a  woman  who  betrayed 
her  nuptial  vows,'  and  bore  in  her  bosom  .  .  ." 


Injury.  47 

"Be  silent .' as  you  value  your  life  .  .  .  be  silent !  .  .  . 
Your  office  against  this  creature  ended  with  the  blow  that 
took  away  her  life.  1  commanded  you  to  be  her  assassin, 
not  her  detractor.  Enough  !  I  have  punished  her  as  guilty, 
now  I  love  to  feign  her  innocent." 

"When  I,  a  young  man,  studied  in » the  University  of 
Frederick,  I  heard  that  he  who  desires  the  most  must  nec- 
essarily desire  the  least.     You  gave  me  the  right  to  inves-' 
tigate  her  guilt,  and  would  you  now  deny  me  the  right  to 
question  her  fame  ?  " 

Count  di  Caserta  leaned  against  the  wall,  as  if  about  to 
swoon  ;  but  Count  della  Cerra  immediately  assisted  him, 
and  added, 

"  Come !  let  us  talk  no  more  of  this.  Count,  if  the 
prayer  of  a  faithful  servant  has  any  weight  with  you, 
abandon,  for  mercy  sake,  this  frightful  place ;  give  to  the 
earth  what  belongs  to  the  earth — the  relics  of  the  dead. 
You  know  that  now,  more  than  ever,  it  is  important  that 
we  should  be  on  our  guard,  and  keep  our  faculties  awake. 
By  your  present  course  of  action,  I  greatly  fear  that  your 
designs  of  vengeance  against  him  may  end  in  your  own 
insanity." 

"  Ah  !  You  care  so  very  much,  then,  about  my  re- 
venge, and  the  preservation  of  my  intellect  ?  Many 
thanks  !  .  .  .  many  thanks  !  .  .  .  Count  della  Cerra,  I 
have  often  told  you  that  you  are  as  subtle  and  as  fraudu- 
lent as  the  spirit  of  evil ;  yet  with  me  your  craftiness 
avails  you  not.  I  have  known  you  long  :  abandon  the 
idea  of  deceiving  me  ;  you  need  not  give  yourself  the 
trouble  to  speak  so  artfully.  You  fear  that  I  should  lose 
my  reason,  and  you  fear  it  on  my  account  ?  The  splen- 
dor of  your  house  had  decayed,  and  the  present  times 
furnished  you  no  opportunity  of  restoring  it,  either  by 
public  or  by  private  virtue.  You  reinstated  it,  however, 
in  its  ancient  splendor.  I  made  you  grand  chamberlain 
of  the  kingdom,  rich  and  powerful ; — you  were  already  so 
wicked,  that  you  dare.d  not  charge  me  openly  with  your 
own  crimes.  You  fear  that  I  should  lose  my  reason,  and 
you  fear  it  on  my  account  ?  And  have  you  no  fear  that, 
in  the  frenzy  of  my  anguish,  I  might,  with  a  single  word, 


48  Injury. 

reveal  that  which  would  bring  the  axe  on  both  our  necks  ? 
And  have  you  no  fear  that,  having  become  an  object  of 
compassion  and  mockery,  I  may  no  longer  have  the 
power  of  bequeathing  to  you  that  wealth  which  I  cannot 
leave  the  son  whom  your  hands  have  murdered  ?  " 

"  Count,  why  labor  so  sedulously  to  unveil  .the  human 
heart  ?  Perhaps  your  doubts  are  true,  perhaps  false.  Is 
it  prudent  to  wear  out  one's  reason  and  time  in  a  study, 
of  which  doubt  is  the  least  bitter  fruit  ?  God  did  not  al- 
low Himself  to  be  known  by  men,  and  enveloped  Him- 
self in  the  mantle  of  the  deep  heavens.  Do  you  wish  to 
penetrate  the  heavens,  and  investigate  the  thoughts  of 
God  ?  And  even  though  you  wished  to  do  so,  would  it 
be  in  your  power  ?  Nature  has  not  willed  that  our 
hearts  should  be  laid  bare,  and  has  therefore  wrapped 
them  in  a  covering  of  flesh  and  bones.  Can  even  your 
boldest  thought  pierce  this  bulwark  of  clay  ?  Be  con- 
tent, then,  with  effects,  and  disregard  causes.  I  have  said 
all  this,  not  that  you  might  have  a  better  opinion  of  me, 
but  a  less  opinion  of  yourself,  when  you  learn  that  your 
son  still  lives." 

Count  di  Caserta  became  as  pale  as  death  ;  he  staggered, 
and  remained  a  long  time  absorbed  in  thought ;  then  he 
slowly  approached  Count  della  Cerra,  grasped  his  arm 
with  his  left  hand,  and  with  his  right  made  so  significant 
a  gesture,  that  speech,  that  noble  attribute  which  distin- 
guishes man  from  any  other  animal,  seemed  almost  un- 
necessary. Count  della  Cerra,  much  as  he  endeavored, 
could  not  so  entirely  repress  that  smile  of  his  but  that 
once  or  twice  it  wrinkled  his  face ;  still  he  contained 
himself,  and  said, 

"And  what,  Count  di  Caserta?  Are  you  so  soon 
afraid  at  having  become  again  a  father?  Have  you  not 
said  that  he  is  your  son  ?  Say  not  then  that  I  killed  him, 
.and  that  the  'cursed  thirst  for  gold'  directs  the  motions 
of  my  soul.  Presumptuous  that  you  are,  renounce  the 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart !  " 

"  He  lives !  You  have  said  it. ...  Then  you  have  be- 
trayed me  ?  Go,  Anselmo,  go,  for  the  -love  of  Heaven, 
kill  him  before  this  night  is  over ;  .  .  .  take  advantage  of 


Injury.  49 

the  few  remaining  hours  of  darkness.  He  ...  he  is  a 
monument  of  sin  ;  ...  he  is  not  my  son,  ...  he  is  not  my 
son  ;  ...  he  must  die  !  " 

"  He  must  live,  Count  di  Caserta  !  " 

"  How  long  is  it  since  Count  della  Cerrahas  refused  to 
be  an  assassin  ?  I  will  find  him  out,  I  will  kill  him  my- 
self this  very  night."  And  so  saying,  he  rushed  towards 
the  door ;  but  Count  della  Cerra  detained  him,  exclaim- 
ing with  a  loud  voice, 

"  You  must  listen  to  me  first." 

Here  they  began  a  very  hasty  conversation,  in  so  low 
a  tone  that  one  could  not  have  heard  them  at  the  dis- 
tance of  a  few  feet;  but  quick  and  fierce  were  their  ges- 
ticulations, terrible  their  aspect.  At  length  they  seemed 
to  have  come  to  a  mutual  understanding  ;  then  Count 
della  Cerra,  with  his  usual  horrible  contortion  of  face, 
asked  exultantly,  "  Count,  how  do  you  like  my  plan  ?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  plan,"  replied  Count  di  Caserta, 
"  that  present  and  future  ages  will  curse — a  plan  which 
the  narrator  of  old  histories  will  avoid  placing  in  his 
chronicle,  as  too  fabulous  ;  a  plan,  than  which  Lucifer  him- 
self, with  all  his  infinite  power  of  evil,  could  not  have  imag- 
ined a  greater.  Treachery  and  parricide,  committed  for 
the  sake  of  avenging  the  father,  this  was  a  thought  worthy 
to  be  devised  by  Count  della  Cerra." 

"  And  to  be  listened  to  by  Count  di  Caserta." 

After  these  words,  Count  di    Caserta  dismissed  An-' 
selmo,  who,  bowing  in  an  obsequious  manner,  departed. 
3 


5O  Deception. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DECEPTION. 

Ne  di&  Natura,  &  vero, 
La  lingua  perchfc  serva 
A  palesar  del  cuor  gli  occulti  sensi ; 
Ma  1'artificto  uman  cosi  I'adopra, 
Che  non  gli  manifesta,  anzi  gli  asconde, 
E  ben  io  so  ch'e  folle 
Chi  mirar  crede  entro  la  voce  1'alma. 
CLEOPATRA,  Tragedia  del  Cardinale  Delfino  Patriarca  d1  Aquileia. 

Dame  Nature  gave  the  tongue,  'tis  thought, 

The  heart's  hid  meaning  to  reveal ; 
But  human  cunning  so  has  wrought, 

That  now  its  use  is  to  conceal. 
And  he  must  simple  be,  indeed, 
That  through  the  voice  the  soul  would  read. 

M.  G.  M. 

|F  life  is  a  blessing,  why  is  it  ever  taken  away 
from  us  ?  If  a  curse,  why  was  it  ever  be- 
stowed? Oh!  the  hour  of  death  comes  with 
unspeakable  agony.  I,  who,  by  a  happy  natu- 
ral disposition,  can,  without  sorrow  and  without  joy, 
look  upon  the  contest  between  death  and  life,  have 
looked  "upon  the  man  killed  by  the  sword  :  his  hair  was 
'on  end,  his  eyes  glaring,  his  mouth  open  in  the  act  of 
threatening,  all  his  limbs  in  the  attitude  of  defence.  I 
have  looked  upon  the  man  killed  by  the  bullet  :  his  eyes 
were  heavy,  his  face  dejected,  like  one  worn  out  by  long 
suffering.  Finally,  I  have  looked  upon  the  power  of 
mortal  disease  on  the  young,  and  on  the  old  :  in  the 
former,  life  struggled  with  vigor  proportioned  to  its 
powers,  and  his  last  moments  were  terribly  painful ;  in 
the  latter,  whose  breath  would  hardly  have  moved  a 
feather,  or  dimmed  the  glass  placed  to  his  mouth,  death 
seemed  to  rage  less  furiously,  and  laid  its  icy  hand  very 
gently  on  his  heart  to  stay  its  beatings.  But  in  him 
killed  by  the  sword,  and  in  him  killed  by  the  bullet,  in 


Deception.  51 

the  youth  and  in  the  old  man,  ...  in  all  I  have  seen  the 
fierce  struggle  of  agony  :  .  .  .  the  rolling  of  the  eyes,  strain- 
ing for  the  light ;  .  .  .  the  quick  shiver  over  the  skin,  pre- 
cursor of  total  stillness  ;  .  .  .  the  great  drop  distilled  by 
the  brain  falling  down  the  pallid  cheek;  .  .  .  the  contrac- 
tion of  all  the  limbs;  .  .  .  life,  with  the  last  gasp,  concen- 
trated into  a  single  moment,  .  .  .  and,  .  .  .  with  one  sigh, 
the  heart  has  ceased  to  beat ;  eternal  immobility  chains 
all  the  fibres  :  man  has  become  dust.  Oh  !  bitter,  bitter 
is  the  moment  when  life  ceases  ! 

But  more  bitter  to  Rogiero  seemed  that  moment 
when,  hearing  steps  approaching  and  a  voice  sounding 
ever  nearer,  he  was  obliged  to  release  himself  from  the 
arms  of  her  whom  he  had  loved  so  much  and  so  hope- 
lessly. Heavens !  her  forehead  was  as  cold  as  marble  ; 
.  .  .  her  limbs  rigid ;  .  .  .  nor  could  she  stand  without 
assistance  ; — and  her  mouth  ?  A  faint  breathing  an- 
nounced that  she  si  ill  lived.— The  voices  and  steps  come 
nearer  every  moment.  Shall  Rogiero  lay  her  down  upon 
the  grass,  or  keep  her  ever  clasped  to  his  heart  ?  Truly  it 
would  be  a  strong  proof  of  love  to  abandon  her  thus 
senseless,  to  an  unknown  person  !  But  to  have  her 
in  his  arms  is  a  crime.  Rogiero  would  refuse  neither 
the  shame  of  the  crime  nor  the  pain  of  the  punishment, 
if  it  were  only  permitted  him  to  place  her  in  the  care  of 
her  maidens  or  her  mother.  Suddenly,  taught  more  by 
the  many  crimes  of  men  than  by  years,  the  thought 
comes  to  his  mind  that  the  beautiful  lily  grows,  envied 
by  all ;  he  sees  the  loathsome  reptile  panting  to  contam- 
inate that  unsullied  purity  ;  he  hears  the  malice  of  base- 
born  minds.  A  generous  feeling  elevates  him  ;  he  con- 
quers the  present  passion,  lays  Yole  gently  on  the 
ground,  turns  his  eyes  upon  her,  joins  his  hands,  looks 
up  to  heaven,  and  flies  without  a  sigh. 

Certainly  it  cannot  be  doubted  but  that,  in  any  case, 
the  adieu  would  have  been  a  silent  one,  for  their  passion 
could  not  be  expressed  in  words  ;  nevertheless,  had  Yole 
been  conscious,  she  would  have  seen  a  look  that  could 
never  have  been  effaced  from  her  memory  :  a  look  which 
revealed  the  desire  of  things  unattainable,  the  irrevo- 


52  Deception. 

cable  oath  never,  through  any  events  or  times,  to  swerve 
from  his  settled  purpose,  and  the  consciousness  of  living 
and  dying  equally  without  hope.  It  was,  without  doubt, 
a  great  mercy  that  she  was  spared  that  look  :  it  would 
have  hastened  the  loss  of  reason,  to  which  the  wretched 
girl  was  condemned  even  from  her  birth. 

Meanwhile  Rogiero,  returning  to  his  post  under  the 
cloisters,  could  not  bring  his  mind  to  dwell  on  the  events 
that  had  just  happened,  for  his  heart,  straying  among 
those  memories,  willingly  gave  itself  up  to  the  rush  of 
feelings. 

While  thus  musing,  he  heard  a  footstep,  which  seemed 
approachinfi  ;  he  listened,  and,  when  it  was  near  enough, 
he  demanded  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  San  Germano  preserve  you ! "  replied  a  man,  of 
rather  rough  features,  but  of  vigorous  aspect,  covered 
with  armor  such  as  the  men-at-arms  of  King  Manfred 
used  to  wear ;  "  good  guard  to  you,  Rogiero  ! " 

"Oh!  is  it  you,  Roberto?"  said  Rogiero,  recognizing 
the  voice ;  "  what  evil  spirit  brings  you  here  at  this  hour  ?  " 

"  Yourself." 

"Thanks  for  your  politeness,  Roberto;  such  a  friend 
as  you  is  welcome  at  any  hour,  particularly  at  that  of 
guard." 

"  Rogiero,  I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you." 

"And  I,  as  you  see,  have  time  and  patience  to  listen. 
Say  on,"  said  Rogiero,  looking  as  if  he  did  not  intend  to 
pay  much  attention  to  what  the  soldier  was  going  to  tell 
him,  and  continuing  his  walk. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Roberto  mysteriously,  sitting 
down,  "  I  can  with  a  single  word  render  you  motionless 
for  a  longer  time  than  you  would  like  ;  but  come,  sit 
down  beside  me,  and,  above  all,  let  us  speak  low,  that  no 
one  may  hear  us." 

Rogiero.  scarcely  knowing  why,  obeyed  without  reply- 
ing. The  soldier  continued  :  "Rogiero,  have  you  thought 
over  what  the  Saracen  astrologer,  Ben-Hussein,  predicted 
to  you  last  month  ?  " 

"  Santa  Rosalia !  they  were  perfect  absurdities.  I 
have  entirely  forgotten  them." 


Deception.  53 

"  If  you  thought  them  absurdities,  why  did  you  listen 
to  them  ?  You  have  interrogated  the  stars,  and  they 
have  told  you  the  truth  ;  you  have  forgotten  it,  but  there 
is  some  one  who  remembered  it  for  you." 

"  So  much  the  better.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  spoke 
of  Sagittarius  ..." 

"Yes,  you  were  born  under  that  constellation,  and* 
your  horoscope  says  that  you  are  to  undertake  long 
journeys.  Your  palm  was  also  consulted  ;  in  fact,  what 
says  the  wise  King  Solomon  ?  '  Length  of  days  is  in  her 
right  hand  ;  and  in  her  left  hand  riches  and  honor.' 
The  art  showed  the  line  of  greatness  red  and  deep,  but 
the  line  of  life  appeared  suddenly  interrupted,  and  made 
the  astrologer  fear  that  a  violent  and  untimely  death  .  .  ." 

"  Roberto,"  said  Rogiero,  rising  impatiently,  "  do  you 
think  to  frighten  me  ?  Why  seek  to  try  my  courage  ? 
Have  you  yet  to  learn  that  my  cheek  pales  not  at  dan- 
ger?" 

"  Young  man,  what  you  say  is  true,  but  you  are  too 
impetuous,"  repli-ed  Roberto,  forcing  him  to  reseat  him- 
self; and  then,  lowering  his  voice,  he  asked  him, 

"  Do  you  know  your  father  ?  " 

"  I  ?     No." 

"  Do  you  know  who  saved  your  life  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  when  it  was  ever  in  danger." 

"  It  was." 

"  Do  you  know,  then  ?  And  why  did  you  not  tell  me 
before  ?  " 

"Why  does  night  come  to  drive  the  light  from 
heaven  ?  " 

"  Instead  of  answering,  you  ask  me  another  question, 
Roberto." 

"  Why  does  night  come  to  drive  the  light  from 
heaven  ?  " 

"  Why  ?     Because  the  laws  of  nature  compel  it." 

"  And  the  power  of  men,  strong  as  Lucifer,  compelled 
me." 

"  But  now,  if  you  are  permitted,  tell  me.  Who  is  my 
father  ?  What  is  he  doing  ?  What  is  his  condition  ? 


54  Deception. 

Was  it  by  his  own  will,  or  by  that  of  others,  that  he  let 
me  languish  in  ignorance  till  now  ?  " 

Roberto  did  not  answer  a  word.  Then  Rogiero,  in  a 
beseeching  manner,  resumed : 

"Speak,  Roberto,  speak;  your  silence  rends  my 
heart." 

4  "  You  ask  me  many  questions,  to  which  I  will  answer 
two  things.  Your  father  is  living,  but  is  at  the  point  of 
death.  Your  condition  will  be  shown  you  to-night." 

"  When  ?  In  what  place  ?  See,  I  am  ready  to  follow 
you  !  " 

"  Come,"  said  Roberto ;  and  Rogiero,  rising,  had 
already  taken  a  step  forward,  when  he  stopped  suddenly, 
saying, 

"  No,  ...  it  is  impossible  now.  Wait,  Roberto,  till  I  am 
relieved  from  guard  :  ...  it  will  be  very  soon  :  .  .  .  other- 
wise I  cannot  without  failing  in  my  duty  to  my  king,  and 
causing  a  suspicion  of  treachery." 

"  Suspicion  !  Indeed,  you  must  betray  him.  Before  this 
night  is  over,  you,  eager  for  vengeance,  will  place  yourself 
at  the  head  of  the  betrayers  of  him  whom  you  now  guard 
from  treachery,  and  the  aim  of  your  life  will  be  the  death 
of  Manfred." 

"  Miscreant,  begone  !  or  my  lance  will  make  ac- 
quaintance with  your  blood  ;  you  would  deceive,  betray 
me,  coward !  And  I,  who  almost  allowed  myself  to  be 
deceived  !  .  .  .  Begone  !  " 

"  I  betray  you  !  I  deceive  you  !  "  said  the  soldier, 
without  showing  the  slightest  emotion.  "A  fine  person 
you  are  to  deceive !  Young  man,  do  not  take  so  much 
upon  yourself.  Your  obscurity,  your  misery,  your  noth- 
ingness, even  more  than  your  acuteness,  save  you  from 
any  attempt  at  deception.  I  have  fulfilled  my  commis- 
sion to  you  ;  only  I  should  like  to  remind  you  that  when 
you  distrust  a  man,  it  is  better  not  to  tell  him  so  to  his 
face.  The  moments  of  your~father's  life  are  numbered. 
...  At  this  very  minute  it  may  be  too  late  to  go.  Good- 
night." 

"  Stop,  in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  !  grant  me 
a  moment.  I  have  not  the  honor  of  my  ancestors  to 


Deception.  55 

preserve,  for  I  belong  to  no  family :  .  .  .  I  have  only  my 
own  ;  but  it  is  as  dear  to  me  as  if  it  had  been  transmitted 
to  me  from  Robert  Guiscard,  or  from  Henry  the  Fowler. 
But  my  father  is  dying,  you  say  ;  and  if  I  do  not  see 
him  now,  I  shall  never  see  him  more,  and  shall  remain  in 
the  ignorance  in  which  1  was  born.  .  .  .  But  my  honor, 
my  honor  !  Roberto  !  oh  !  in  mercy  do  not  deceive  . 
me." 

"  Poor  soul !  Do  you  really  know  what  is  honor,  or  what 
disgrace?"  interrupted  Roberto.  "Look  at  the  barons 
of  Manfred's  court ;  they  are  great,  because  their  ances- 
tors betrayed  William  the  Norman  :  their  sons  will  be 
great  in  the  court  of  Anjou,  because  they  will  betray 
Manfred  the  Svvabian." 

"  Ah  !  this  is  a  terrible  truth." 

"You  will  learn  others,  Rogiero,"in  the  path  of  life. 
But  come  now,  if  you  wish;  by  making  haste,  you  may 
return,  if  you  wish,  or  if  it  appears  to  you  better  to  be 
the  slave  of  a  tyrant  than  the  avenger  of  a  father."  And 
so  saying,  Roberto  walked  away. 

Rogiero  still  stood  hesitating,  looking  now  at  the 
spear  which  he  must  abandon,  now  at  the  departing 
soldier.  "  There  is  a  destiny,"  he  exclaimed  at  length  ; 
"  destiny  governs  us  all.  In  vain  will  one  endeavor  to 
go  to  the  left ;  he  will  find  himself  at  the  right,  if  it  was 
written  in  the  skies  ;  and,  since  resistance  is  useless,  it  is. 
better  to  throw  myself  blindly  into  the  arms  of  the  fate 
that  governs  my  days."  And  throwing  down  his  spear, 
resolute  as  one  who  is  henceforth  prepared  to  face  the 
worst,  he  followed  his  guide,  and  joined  him  at  the 
entrance  of  the  cloisters. 

"  Roberto,"  said  Rogiero,  as  they  walked  along,  "have 
you  ever  heard  the  word  of  God  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  " 

"  Have  you  ever  thought  of  the  reward  of  him  who  sold 
the  blood  of  Christ  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  A  halter  in  this  life,  and  eternal  damna- 
tion in  the  next.  But  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  still 
doubt  my  good  faith,  Rogiero  ;  and  I  tell  you  that  I  have 
no  intention  of  making  you  follow  me,  for  iny  commission 


56  Deception. 

ends  with  the  message  that  I  carried  to  you  :  you  are  at 
perfect  liberty  to  stay,  for  I  neither  have  nor  wish  to  use 
the  means  of  compelling  you  to  come." 

"  Oh,  yes !  You  place  before  a  heated  fancy  an 
object  that  can  powerfully  excite  the  principal  passion  of 
the  mind,  and  then  say  that  we  are  at  perfect  liberty  not 
to  follow  it,  that  we  have  the  power  to  resist  every  entice- 
ment !  This  appears  to  me  a  cruel  mockery  of  our 
nature." 

':  Then  have  more  faith  in  me,  squire  ;  is  there  in  the 
world  no  more  fidelity  ?  " 

While  they  thus  conversed,  they  had  gone  some  few 
steps  from  the  cloisters,  from  which,  as  Roberto  ceased 
speaking,  issued  a  voice  which  said,  "No  more  fidelity." 

"  Croce  di  Dio  ! "  cried  Roberto,  stepping  back  in 
alarm,  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  ;  "  did  you  hear, 
Rogiero  ?  These  are  illusions  of  the  foul  fiend.  Santa 
Rosalia  preserve  us ! "  And  then  he  continued  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  I  wonder  that,  a  hundred  times  when  a 
word  of  reproof  might  with  reason  have  been  addressed 
to  me,  I  have  never  heard  anything,  and  now  it  is  heard, 
when,"  and  here  he  raised  his  voice,  "  no  one  can  say  to 
me,  '  Thou  art  a  traitor  ! ' ' 

And  the  voice  replied,  "  Thou  art  a  traitor" 

"  This  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  O  man  or  demon, 
thou  liest  in  thy  throat  ! " 

And  the  voice,  "  Thou  liest  in  thy  throat" 
.  The  soldier  lowered  his  visor,  drew  his  sword,  and, 
wrapping  his  cloak  around  his  left  arm,  prepared  to  rush 
into  the  cloisters.  Rogiero,  who,  reasonably,  had  not 
laid  aside  every  doubt  of  the  faith  of  this  man,  stood 
•carefully  observing  him  ;  he  saw  the  sudden  terror,  the 
effect  of  an  uneasy  conscience,  and  hesitated  more  than 
ever ;  but  when  he  perceived  that  the  feeling  of  honor, 
conquering  superstitious  fear,  led  his  hand  to  his  sword,  and 
excited  him  to  worthy  revenge,  he  decided,  laying  aside 
every  suspicion,  to  trust  him  entirely;  therefore,  know- 
ing by  experience  whence  the  voice  proceeded,  he 
stopped  Roberto,  and,  laughing,  said  to  him, 

"  Hold,  good  lance  ;  any  attempt  .of  yours  against  the 


Deception.  57 

being  from  whom  that  voice  proceeded  would  be  utterly 
useless." 

"  We'll  see  that,"  replied  Roberto,  roughly  pushing 
Rogiero  aside,  and  still  about  to  rush  in. 

"  Stop,  stop  !  do  you  not  see  that  it  is  the  echo  ?  Has 
it  not  repeated  the  end  of  your  own  sentences  ?  With  whom 
would  you  fight,  if  the  voice  is  your  own  ?" 

"  St.  George !  I  believe  you  are  right,  Rogiero,"  said 
Roberto,  and  upon  that  he  tried  to  laugh,  wiping  his  fore- 
head, damp  with  fear.  "  What  does  the  proverb  say  ? 
Nature  cannot  be  conquered  ;  drive  her  out  by  the  door, 
and  she  will  return  by  the  window."  Silence  following 
these  words,  Roberto,  as  if  he  feared  not  arriving  in  time, 
set  to  work  to  recover  by  speed  the  time  he  had  lost  in 
conversation.  Rogiero  observed  that,  nevertheless,  he 
was  careful  to  follow  the  least  observed  rather  than  the 
shortest  paths  ;  and  often,  as  if  fearful  of  losing  his  way, 
stopped,  and,  examining  the  place,  made  a  signal,  which, 
repeated  immediately  from  distance  to  distance,  grew 
fainter,  till  at  last  it  was  almost  lost  to  the  ear.  Thus 
they  walked  on  for  some  time,  when  Roberto,  stopping 
short,  turned  to  Rogiero  and  said  : 

"  Squire,  do  you  trust  me  ?  " 

"  Roberto,  let  me  speak  to  you  frankly.  Your  question 
is  asked  in  a  time  and  place  that  induce  rather  a  feel- 
ing of  suspicion  than  of  security.  And  then,  you  must 
see  that  whatever  my  feelings  might  be,  it  would  be  ex- 
pedient for  me,  just  now,  to  say  that  I  trusted  you." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right.  Since  it  is  so,  permit  me  to 
blind  your  eyes." 

"  Do  so  ;  I  have  no  reason  to  fear  you.  I  have  never 
done  you  any  harm ;  and  as  for  me,  however  great  hu- 
man wickedness  may  be,  I  will  never  believe  that  it  is  so 
great  as  to  shed  innocent  blood." 

"  Your  heart  is  better  than  your  tongue.  Was  it  not 
you  who  just  now  brought  forward  the  example  of  Judas  ? 
Poor  youth  ! "  he  continued  with  emotion,  "  may  God 
keep  you  in  such  sentiments,  and  may  He  pardon  me  for 
being  an  example  of  the  contrary."  This  last  sentence 
was  murmured  low,  and  seemed  forced  from  him  by  that 
3* 


58  Deception. 

mysterious  power  that  a  good  conscience  has  over 
wickedness.  To  be  sure,  the  affair  in  which  he  was  now 
engaged  did  not  appear  a  bloody  one,  for  his  face  was 
calm,  his  voice  firm,  nor  did  his  limbs  tremble,  as  gener- 
ally happens  to  people  of  his  description  when  they  are 
about  to  commit  a  crime. 

Meanwhile,  Rogiero,  his  eyes  bandaged,  took  Roberto's 
arm,  who  conducted  him  with  tender  care  along  a  crooked 
and  unknown  road.  Going  about  five  hundred  steps 
farther,  they  stopped.  The  guide  gave  a  signal,  striking 
his  hands  ;  then  a  bridge  was  lowered,  which,-  in  spite  of 
the  care  taken  to  conceal  the  noise,  Rogiero  heard  de- 
scend. The  guide  asked  him  to  walk  on,  and  corning  upon 
the  bridge,  he  perceived  that  it  was  paved  with  stones 
like  the  street  which  they  had  just  left,  and  this  evidently 
on  purpose,  that  blindfolded  persons  who  went  over  it 
might  not  perceive  it.  Rogiero,  however,  whether  it  was 
that  he  was  endowed  by  nature  with  more  acute  percep- 
tions, or  that  there  had  been  some  carelessness  in  lower- 
ing it,  noticed,  but  without  appearing  to  do  so,  that  there 
certainly  was  a  bridge,  and  went  on. 

After  he  had,  with  many  precautions,  traversed  a  mar- 
vellous number  of  corridors  and  rooms,  he  heard  a  voice 
different  from  his  conductor's,  which  said  to  him,  in  a 
tone  of  command, 

"  You  may  take  off  your  bandage." 

He  obeyed  ;  and,  able  once  more  to  use  his  eyes,  he 
looked  curiously  around  to  examine  the  place.  It  was 
not  in  the  least  remarkable  :  he  saw  a  very  large  room 
with  an  arched  roof;  it  was  partially  illuminated  by  a 
lamp,  which,  shedding  all  its  light  on  Rogiero,  threw  into 
the  shade  two  men  seated  at  a  table  at  a  little  distance 
from  him.  Rogiero,  looking  if  his  guide  were  still  with 
him,  perceived  that  he  had  left  him  on  entering  that 
room.  He  then  turned  all  his  attention  to  the  two  re- 
maining persons.  They  appeared  very  simply  dressed, 
nothing  about  them  indicating  either  rank  or  wealth  ;  there 
was  nothing  noticeable  about  them  except  that  they  kept 
their  faces  covered  with  a  veil  of  black  cloth. 

He  who,  as  far  as  could  be  judged,  had  the  most  an- 


Deception.  59 

thority,  rose  from  his  seat  and  extended  his  hand  towards 
Rogiero,  as  if  about  to  speak ;  but  he  endeavored  in 
vain  to  utter  a  word,  for  a  sudden  trembling  seized  him, 
and  he  sank  back  upon  the  seat  from  which  he  had  risen. 
Then  the  second,  as  if  wishing  to  take  advantage  of  this 
emotion,  quickly  commenced  : 

"The  many  cautions  adopted  in  bringing  you  here, 
Rogiero,  must  serve  less  to  show  our  distrust  of  you  than 
the  imminence  of  the  danger  in  which  we  are  all  involved. 
Do  not  wonder  at  what  I  say  ;  it  will  soon  be  clear  to 
you.  In  the  meantime,  be  assured  of  this,  that  if  the  fact 
which  we  are  about  to  reveal  to  you  .were  known  to  him 
who  has  the  power  of  the  sword,  our  heads  would  certainly 
fall,  and  yours  would  not  be  safe.  Nor  do  we  say  this  to 
frighten  you  ;  if  you  had  been  capable  of  a  feeling  of  cow- 
ardice, we  should  not  have  brought  you  to  hear  a  secret 
which  no  one  compels  us  to  disclo'se.  We  have  been 
observing  you  for  a  long  time;  the  most  hidden  secrets  of 
your  heart  are  known  to  us  ;  we  know  all ;  ...  nor  have  we 
perceived  anything  in  you  that  was  not  high-minded  and 
generous.  It  is  true  nevertheless  that  we  should  have 
preferred  to  keep  you  in  ignorance  of  all,  till,  the  danger 
being  over,  you  might  have  reaped  the  rich  fruits.  And 
this  not  because  we  think  lightly  of  you,  but  for  the  great 
love  we  feel  for  you.  But  now,  as  happens  every  day, 
according  to  the  old  proverb,  Prudence  warps  and 
Fortune  weaves  :  it  did  not  please  Heaven  to  bring  about 
what  man  had  proposed.  The  approaching  and,  alas  ! 
too  certain  death  of  the  principal  person  engaged  in  this 
affair  renders  vain  all  our  designs,  and  compels  us  to  do 
what  we  abhor." 

"  Is  not  this  dying  man  my  father  ?  "  asked  Rogiero, 
greatly  agitated. 

"  Calm  yourself:  your  affairs  demand  a  heart  that 
can  feel,  a  hand  that  can  execute,  a  face  that  can  dissimu- 
late. Tell  me,  do  you  know  the  history  of  the  house  of 
Swabia  ?  " 

"  The  house  of  Swabia  ?  The  history  of  that  family 
has  always  been  more  pleasing  and  interesting  to  me  than 
any  other  ;  but,  although  not  many  years  have  passed 


60  Deception. 

over  my  head,  there  is  not  a  noble  house  in  Italy  whose 
origin  and  history  I  do  not  know." 

"  Then  you  will  remember,  Rogiero,  that  the  Emperor 
Frederick  II.  had  many  sons,  and  you  will  remember  also 
that  the  eldest  was  Henry,  chosen,  during  his  father's  life- 
time, Emperor  of  Germany,  now  commonly  known  as 
Henry  the  Cripple — for  the  malignity  of  men  is  not  satis- 
fied with  the  misfortunes  of  the  oppressed,  but  wishes 
them  to  be  either  ridiculous  or  infamous.  This  unhappy 
prince,  not  having  a  very  strong  will,  and  being  a  most 
devoted  lover  of  our  religion,  excited  by  the  entreaties  of 
Gregory  IX.  and  of  many  enemies  of  his  father,  thought 
that  it  would  be  an  act  pleasing  to  the  Eternal,  if  he 
should  free  the  empire  of  Germany  from  the  rule  of  an 
excommunicated  sovereign,  which  Frederick  II.  was. 
Alas  !  that,  led  astray  by  evil  counsels,  he  did  not  re- 
member that  God  abhors  parricidal  wars,  and  that  His 
curse  rests  upon  the  house  of  the  impious  one  who  dares,  in 
the  wickedness  of  his  heart,,  to  raise  his  hand  against  the 
author  of  his  days  !  As  soon  as  Frederick  learned  the 
bitter  news,  he  left  Italy,  quickly  crossed  the  Adriatic,  and 
reached  Worms.  The  people  watched  in  terror  to  see 
who  first,  father  or  son,  would  dare  to  unsheath  the  sword. 
Eternal  pity  would  not  permit  this  disgrace  to  be  regis- 
tered in  the  voluminous  history  of  human  crimes.  It 
pleased  God  not  to  harden  the  heart  of  the  son  :  pale, 
desponding,  less  fearful  of  punishment  than  urged  by  re- 
morse, with  bare  feet,  shaven  head,  dressed  in  sackcloth, 
a  halter  round  his  neck,  and  holding  a  cross  in  his  hand, 
he  came  to  Worms  heedless  of  ridicule ;  he  passed 
through  the  crowd  of  people  who  had  been  awe- struck  by 
his  guilt,  and,  bitterly  weeping,  threw  himself  for  mercy 
at  his  father's  feet,  and  conjured  him  not  to  spare  the 
punishment  that  he  felt  his  crime  had  too  well  merited, 
but  only  to  bless  him,  and  call  him  by  the  dear  name  of 
son  before  he  died.  In  vain  did  offended  pride  en- 
deavor to  harden  itself;  in  vain  did  the  betrayed  paternal 
authority  seek  to  remain  severe  :  the  tears  gushed  from 
Frederick's  eyes,  and  his  heart  felt  all  the  truth  of  the 
sentence,  '  Joy  is  the  daughter  of  sorrow."  He  descended 


Deception.  61 

from  the  throne,  threw  his  arms  lovingly  round  his  son's 
neck,  and,  kissing  his  eyes,  his  forehead,  his  mouth,  called 
him  again  his  beloved  son.  Oh  !  that  would  have  been 
true  peace  and  lasting  pardon ;  but  that,  among  the  wild 
animals  that  nature  has  formed,  there  are  men,  O  Ro-. 
giero  !  and  unfortunately  too  many  of  them,  who  hate  a 
serene  sky;  who  live  upon  gall  and  poison,  and  would 
willingly  renounce  ease,  life,  in  order  to  revel  in  the 
sight  of  human  miser}',  and  to  laugh  at  its  groans  ;  for 
while  such  a  limited  power  to  aid  others  has  been  given 
us,  we  have  more  than  enough  to  injure.  That  son  of 
wickedness  lived,  and  still  lives,  O  Rogiero !  who,  excit- 
ing every  moment  suspicions  in  Frederick's  heart,  and  giv- 
ing to  the  most  innocent  of  Henry's  actions  an  appear- 
ance of  crime,  surrounding  him  with  a  thousand  snares  and 
innumerable  spies,  now  by  slander,  now  by  compassion. .  . . 
But  why  do  I  waste  time  in  revealing,  one  by  one,  all  the 
i,,  powers  «f  infamy  ?  They  are  more  than  can  be  numbered, 
'  or  than'lionor  can  understand.  In  fine,  his  perfidy  was 
so  successful  that  Frederick,  cruelly  enraged  against  his 
own  blood,  recalled  that  unfortunate  son  from  the  throne 
of  Germany,  delivered  him  to  that  wicked  one,  that  in 
some  prison  of  Apulia  he  might  make  him  consume  the 
remainder  of  his  life,  with  "  the  bread  of  adversity  and 
the  water  of  affliction."  It  was  not  long  before  the  death 
of  Henry  was  announced  to  Frederick,  which,  opening  the 
spring  of  paternal  affection,  caused  him  to  feel  such  bitter 
grief  at  his  excessive  rigor,  that,  shutting  himself  up,  he 
determined  to  die  of  hunger  ;  but  his  most  faithful  cour- 
tiers, speaking  to  him  through  the  door,  with  the  utmost 
difficulty  induced  him  to  lay  aside. that  cruel  intention, 
and  to  take  food.  The  grief  of  Frederick  could  not  be 
concealed  ;  a  royal  letter,  dictated  by  the  illustrious  sec- 
retary Piero  delle  Vigne,  and  sent  to  the  Sicilian  clergy, 
said,  '  However  great  may  be  the  errors  of  a  son,  they 
cannot  diminish  the  sorrow  that  nature  excites  in  a  fath- 
er's heart  at  his  death.'  And  he  ordered  that  he  should 
be  honored  with  magnificent  funeral  rites,  thinking  thus 
to  make  restitution,  by  vain  pomp,  to  a  soul  which  he 


62  Deception. 

had  condemned  to  sink  under  disgrace.  But  Henry  lived  ; 
Frederick  and  his  cruel  counsellor  were  deceived." 

"  Does  Henry  the  Cripple  live  ?  "  cried  Rogiero,  who, 
listening  with  fixed  attention  to  this  narration,  could  not 
suppress  a  gesture  of  wonder. 

"  Our  lot  here  below  would  be  too  hard  to  endure, 
my  son.  if  the  mercy  of  the  Creator  had  not  granted  us 
some  of  those  compassionate  spirits  born  to  restrain  the 
crimes  with  which,  from  day  to  day,  our  wicked  race  aug- 
ments the  load  of  God's  vengeance.  Providence  caused 
one  of  those  blessed  ones  to  be  taken  into  the  confidence 
of  Frederick's  counsellor :  to  him  were  these  atrocious 
mysteries  revealed  ;  he  was  ordered  by  the  counsellor  to 
go  to  Apulia ;  then,  by  treachery,  or  by  violence,  or  in 
some  way  or  other,  to  kill  Henry,  and  then,  in  all  haste, 
to  bring  the  news  to  court.  The  messenger  departed ; 
he  returned  with  the  news  of  Henry's  death.  But  Henry 
had  been  saved." 

"  Oh  !  that  I  might  be  the  first  to  announce  it  to 
Manfred  !  Certainly  the  king's  joy  will  be  great  at  such 
happy  news,"  interrupted  Rogiero. 

"  And  the  son  of  the  unhappy  Henry,"  continued  the 
mysterious  man  without  heeding  him,  "  persecuted  by 
cruel  ambition,  escaped  death  by  the  substitution  for  him 
of  a  child  who  had  died  by  natural  illness." 

"And  does  he  live ?  "  asked  Rogiero. 

"  He  lives." 

"  Why,  then,  not  reveal  him  to  Manfred  ?  " 

"  Because  the  scorn  of  men  and  the  anger  of  God  are 
the  reward  for  betraying  innocence." 

"  Manfred  would  restore  to  him  his  royal  estate." 

"  Manfred  would  kill  him  before  any  one  knew  a  word 
of  it,  to  spare  himself  the  expense  of  the  funeral." 

"  Whoever  you  are,"  exclaimed  Rogiero  in  a  terrible 
voice,  "  who  speak  so  wrongfully  of  my  king,  I  declare 
solemnly  that  the  only  reason  1  do  not  avenge  him  in 
this  place  is  that  you  are  not  suitably  armed.  Neverthe- 
less, from  this  moment  I  declare  you  a  liar  and  a  dis- 
loyal knight,  and  I  am  ready  to  sustain  to  the  death, 
with  lance,  sword,  or  dagger,  on  foot  or  on  horseback, 


Deception.  63 

King  Manfred  of  Swabia,  the  noblest  knight  of  Christen- 
dom ! " 

"  I  accept  the  challenge,  and  substitute  a  champion." 

"  Let  the  champion  advance,"  said  Rogiero,  drawing 
his  sword.  "  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Although  in  chivalry  it  is  not  lawful  to  demand  the 
name  of  the  knight,  I  will  nevertheless  satisfy  you  :  he 
is  the  son  of  Henry,  the  nephew  of  Manfred." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  this  room." 

"  I  do  not  see  him.  Is  it  your  silent  companion  who 
boasts  of  being  Henry's  son?" 

"  He  is  not  of  so  illustrious  a  race." 

"  Then  ?  "  said  Rogiero,  looking  round. 

"Then  it  is  ...  yourself!  .  .  ." 

"  I  !  grandson  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  !  "  cried 
Rogiero,  confounded,  and  the  sword  fell  from  his  trembling 
hand.  "  But  why,"  he  resumed,  breathing  with  difficulty, 
"  why  not  have  declared  it  to  me  before  ?  Why,  instead  of 
so  basely  suspecting  King  Manfred,  did  you  not  tell  him 
of  my  existence  ?  Time  may  have  lessened  his  hatred,  if 
indeed  the  king  ever  cherished  such  a  feeling  towards  his 
brother  Henry,  and  he  would  have  received  me  with  the 
love  with  which  the  dearest  relations  are  received  .  .  ." 

"  Time  consumes  the  heart  that  hates,  but  hatred — oh  ! 
hatred  ceases  not  even  with  the  beatings  of  the  heart.  It 
descends  into  the  tomb,  and  agitates  even  the  dust  of 
the  dead.  It  is  the  only  immortal  passion  granted  to  the 
soul  confined  in  its  '  mortarcoil.'  But  hatred  is  not  the 
question  ;  we  are  speaking  of  cold,  cruel,  calculating 
ambition." 

Although  Rogiero's  mind  had  long  been  accustomed 
to  vehement  emotions,  it  could  not  endure  what  we 
have  related  without,  for  a  few  minutes,  giving  way  be- 
fore it.  Balls  of  fire  seemed  to  strike  his  eyes  ;  every- 
thing in  the  room  seemed  to  be  whirling  round  ;  an  in- 
definable weakness  seized  him,  which,  in  spite  of  himself, 
completely  overcame  him. 

The  man  who  had  been  speaking  stood  motionless, 
looking  at  him,  as  if  he  took  pleasure  in  witnessing  his 


64  Deception. 

anguish  ;  but  he  who  had  remained  silent  sprang  eagerly 
from  his  seat,  supported  him  as  he  was  falling,  lavished 
every  care  upon  him,  and,  when  he  perceived  that  he  was 
recovering,  he  asked  him  in  a  stifled  voice,  "  Do  you 
feel  better  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  it  is  nothing,"  replied  Rogiero,  "  nothing  at 
all."  And  recovering  himself  by  an  effort,  he  freed  him- 
self from  the  other's  arms.  "A  momentary  confusion  in 
my  mind ;  it  is  entirely  past  now." 

"  He  repulses  me  ! "  said  that  silent  one,  with  a  sound 
that  resembled  more  the  cry  of  a  wild  animal  than  a 
human  voice,  and  he  slowly  returned  to  his  seat. 

"  Rogiero,  before  speaking  to  you,  our  intention  was 
to  lead  you  to  your  father.  Truly  it  would  be  a  kindness 
to  conceal  him  from  you.  He  is  a  miserable  wreck  of  a 
life  that  anger  and  madness  have  alternately  vexed,  and 
even  this  wreck  is  now  in  the  power  of  death.  Think, 
then,  what  a  dreadful  sight  awaits  you.  The  weak  state 
that  you  are  in  at  present  makes  me  fear  greatly  for  you 
in  the  trial  to  which  you  are  called.  It  is  in  your  own 
choice  whether  or  not  you  will  meet  it.  The  sight  of  a 
dying  father  is  the  most  heart-rending  that  man  can  en- 
dure." All  this  was  said  by  the  first  speaker,  who 
paused  after  each  sentence,  as  if  to  enjoy  the  grief  it 
caused  Rogiero. 

"  Cease,  cruel  man  ! "  replied  he.  "  If  your  words  are 
uttered  in  order  to  enjoy  my  distress,  your  baseness  is 
more  than  human  ;  if  to  console  my  afflicted  spirit,  you 
are  the  least  successful  comforter  that  ever  lived.  Cease, 
I  pray  you.  Too  well  I  know  how  afflictive  is  this  dis- 
pensation. I  was  born  to  love,  and  however  numerous 
might  have  been  the  objects  presented  to  my  heart,  they 
could  never  have  exhausted  the  infinite  power  of  affec- 
tion with  which  I  was  born  ;  and  yet  I  know  neither 
father  nor  mother,  wife  nor  friend,  on  whom  I  might  turn 
the  longing  of  my  soul.  This  fire,  unable  to  find  a  vent, 
has  consumed  what  it  should  have  nourished.  A  single 
spark  has  remained,  and  this  is  to  burn  for  a  moment,  like  a 
meteor  at  night,  and  die.  It  will  die ;  but  let  it  burn.  I 
feel  that  in  this  nighi  I  must  completely  change.  I  feel 


Deception.  65 

the  approach  of  a  hitherto  unheard-of  agony  ;  already 
my  flesh  trembles,  my  bones  melt, — and  this  trouble  comes 
from  imagination  only  !  Let  me  try  how  far  man  can 
suffer  and  fate  persecute  ;  let  me  try  how  the  voice  *)f  a 
father  affects  a  son,  even  though  that  father  be  dying." 

Agitated  by  the  deepest  excitement,  he  moved  towards 
the  men  who  stood  opposite  him  ;  and  although  he  had 
ceased  s'peaking,  he  appeared  to  threaten  them,  if  they 
did  not  quickly  lead  him  to  the  object  of  his  wishes.  The 
two  rose  immediately,  and,  having  signed  to  him  to  wait 
a  few  moments,  they  went  to  the  end  of  the  room  oppo- 
site to  the  door  by  which  Rogiero  had  entered.  As  they 
went,  one  of  them  whispered  to  the  other,  "Henceforth, 
Count  di  Caserta,  I  wish  to  have  your  approval.  What 
do  you  think  of  my  work  ?  " 

"  The  mercy  of  God  is  great ;  but  you  appear  to  me 
even  more  wicked  than  He  is  merciful." 

"  Indeed,  my  words  sounded  like  religion  and  vir- 
tue." 

"  It  is  true  ;  but  there  is  no  time  when  Satan  is  so  terri- 
ble as  when  he  appears  as  '  an  angel  of  light.'  " 

"  Many  thanks,"  replied  the  Count  della  Cerra,  smil- 
ing ;  and,  producing  a  key,  he  opened  a  little  door 
guarded  by  strong  iron  bars ;  then,  putting  his  head  out, 
he  cried  "  Gisfredo  !  Gisfredo  !  " 

After  a  little  while  there  appeared  the  head,  then  the 
shoulders  and  breast,  of  a  man,  as  if  he  were  ascending 
stairs.  Count  della  Cerra,  bending  towards  him,  asked 
him  some  question,  to  which  he  replied  with  an  affirma- 
tive nod ;  then  the  count,  turning  to  Rogiero,  said,  "  You 
can  come." 

Rogiero  sprang  forward,  and,  without  hesitation,  has- 
tened down  the  narrow  staircase.  The  two  counts  fol- 
lowed. Gisfredo  went  before,  lighting  the  way  with  a 
lantern  which  he  had  brought.  Rogiero,  with  all  his 
efforts,  could  not  tell  who  this  Gisfredo  was,  because,  like 
the  others,  he  had  his  face  covered  with  black  cloth  ; 
but  he  seized  him  once  suddenly,  pretending  to  stum- 
ble, and  perceived,  by  his  turning  round  very  quickly 
and  suspiciously,  by  the  rolling  of  his  eyes,  which  he  saw 


66  The  Prisoner. 

through  an  opening  in  the  cloth,  when  he,  as  if  accidentally, 
touched  the  hilt  of  his  dagger,  that  he  was  a  man  of 
fraud,  and  not  of  open  violence. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PRISONER. 

Oh  !  perch  j  almeno 

Lungi  da  lui  non  muoio !     Orrendo,  e  vero, 
Gli  giungeria  Pannunzio  ;  ma  varcata 
L'ora  solenne  del  dolor  saria  ; 
E  adesso  innanzi  ella  ci  sta;  bisogna 
Gustarla  a  sorsi,  e  insieme. 

MANZONI,  Conte  di  Carmagnola. 

.  .  .  Oh  !  why,  at  least, 
Could  I  not  die  far  off !  Fearful,  indeed, 
Would  the  announcement  be  ;  but  then  were  past 
The  solemn  hour  of  grief.     But  now  we  must 
Drink  the  full  draught  together.  . 

M.  G.  M. 

HEY  reached  the   foot   of  the  staircase.      The 
corridor  appeared  slightly  illuminated  by  a  dis- 


tant light.  Passing  on,  they  arrived  at  a  vesti- 
bule separated  from  the  prison  by  a  grating. 
Rogiero  perceived  at  a  glance  the  scene  which  presented 
itself.  He  saw  a  man  almost  buried  in  a  chair  ;  his  features 
were  not  entirely  visible,  for  the  rays  of  the  lamp  fell  else- 
where ;  yet  he  seemed  pale  and  old ;  his  hair  was  quite 
white,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  closed,  as  one  who  would  pre- 
pare himself  to  die.  A  table  stood  before  him,  on  which 
was  a  cup  and  a  crucifix.  Beside  his  chair,  on  the  ground, 
lay  a  long  rod  all  notched,  and  the  notches,  although  gen- 
erally regular,  were  gradually  deeper  and  deeper.  This 
was  a  labor  of  grief.  When  this  unhappy  man  was  first  im- 
prisoned, he  formed  the  idea  of  numbering  the  days  of 
his  confinement,  that  he  might  know  how  long  he  was 


The  Prisoner.  67 

destined  to  suffer,  and  that  he  might  rejoice  in  the  hope 
that  this  time  was  continually  diminishing  ;  perhaps,  also, 
looking  forward  to  happier  days,  he  thought  that  it  might' 
hereafter-  be  a  source  of  pleasure  to  compare  his  future 
condition  with  the  present.  This  work  now  lay  neglected 
on  the  ground.  Hope,  the  last  that  leaves  the  pillow  of 
the  dying,  and  reveals  herself  to  his  eyes  even  when, 
veiled  by  the  cloud  of  death,  they  are  not  able  to  recog- 
nize the  dear  countenances  of  kindred  and  friends, — hope 
itself  had  abandoned  his  heart.  When  years,  accumulating 
over  his  head,  had  turned  his  blond  hair  to  white,  no  longer 
did  flesh  and  spirit  tremble  at  the  sound  of  the  door  turn- 
ing on  its  hinges,  nor  did  he  suppose,  with  every  touch 
upon  the  lock,  that  the  hour  had  come  when  some  com- 
passionate hand  would  lead  him  to  the  light  of  heaven. 
Despairing,  he  threw  away  this  calendar,  which,  teaching 
him  to  dwell  upon  his  sufferings,  rendered  them  longer 
and  more  insupportable ;  he  loved  to  consider  his  con- 
finement a  long,  long  day  of  trouble,  whose  night  he  was 
to  find  in  death.  And  in  truth,  there  was  no  light  to 
make  a  distinction  between  day  and  night.  From  the 
first  moment  of  his  imprisonment,  he  had  never  seen 
the  face  of  heaven,  not  even  through  the  grated  win- 
dows ;  and  since  his  life  was  darkness,  he  could  look 
upon  death  as  only  annihilation.  Having  become  en- 
tirely insensible,  he  awaited  like  an  inanimate  object  the 
moment  destined,  by  the  order  of  things,  for  his  extinc- 
tion. Would  that  he  had  retained  courage  enough  to 
put  an  end  to  such  a  pitiable  existence  !  This  thought, 
which  needs  for  its  execution  all  the  powers  of  the  soul, 
arose  in  his  mind  when,  discouraged  by  misfortune,  he 
sought  in  vain  among  the  passions  of  the  past  for  a 
remnant  of  that  spirit  which  might  nerve  him  to  give 
back  his  body  to  the  elements,  reducing  form  to  its  origi- 
nal matter.  Not  a  sigh,  not  a  complaint  ever  escaped 
his  lips  ;  all  which  the  depth  of  bitterness  or  the  fury  of 
passion  could  prompt,  he  had  uttered  a  thousand  times ; 
silence  alone  remained  to  him,  and  he  was  as  voiceless 
as  the  grave.  Years  had  entirely  effaced  his  memory 
from  the  minds  of  men.  There  was  no  sigh,  no  word  of 


68  The  Prisoner. 

love  for  him  ;  if  at  times  his  name  presented  itself  to  the 
remembrance  of  some  old  retainer,  who,  sitting  by  the 
hearth,  narrated  the  glories  of  the  house  of  Swabia  to, 
the  servants  of  the  family,  he  would  beware  of  allowing! 
it  to  pass  his  lips,  because  it  would  recall  one  guilty  of 
such  a  crime  as  might  terrify  Lucifer  himself;  or  if  ever 
he  did  name  him,  it  was  in  a  whisper,  hastily,  as  one 
would  speak  of  the  damned.  There  remained  for  him 
living  not  even  that  slight  affection  that  is  preserved  for 
the  dead  ! 

He  extended  his  right  hand  with  difficulty  :  it  trembled 
as  if  palsied ;  it  had  almost  reached  the  table  when  it  fell 
powerless ;  he  waited  an  instant,  then  moved  it  again. 
Feeling  about,  he  grasped  the  crucifix,  and  lifted  it  to  his 
mouth,  about  to  drink.  Startled  by  missing  the  refresh- 
ment of  the  liquid,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  seeing  the 
image  of  our  Redeemer,  replaced  it  petulantly  upon  the 
table,  muttering  between  his  teeth,  "  O  Dio  !  I  burn  with 
thirst  ! "  He  then  grasped  the  cup,  and  drank  eagerly, 
spilling  some  of  the  water  upon  his  chin  and  breast ;  but 
he  did  not  seem  vexed  at  it.  His  thirst  quenched,  he  gave 
a  groan,  and  fell  back  immovable  in  his  former  torpor. 
He  had  nothing  left- of  the  man  but  the  animal  wants  ! 

Rogiero  saw  this  spectacle  of  degradation  and  misery, 
and  placed  both  hands  over  his  eyes,  believing  the  mere 
covering  of  the  eyelids  insufficient  to  screen  them  from 
that  sight.  He  leaned  against  a  pillar,  and  when  he 
would  have  ordered  them  to  open  the  grating,  he  \vas 
unable  to  utter  a  word  :  he  was  obliged  to  express  his 
wish  by  a  motion  of  his  hand. 

The  grating  was  opened.  The  old  man  felt  his  knees 
embraced,  and  stretching  out  his  hand  to  discover  what  it 
was,  his  fingers  fell  upon  a  head  of  long  hair.  "  It  seems 
like  the  head  of  a  man,"  said  he,  and  sank  back  in  his 
usual  state  of  utter  listlessness.  .  .  .  But  this  time  his 
hand  did  not  fall  :  it  was  grasped  firmly  ;  he  felt  it  warmed, 
— moistened, — was  it  with  tears  ?  He  bent  his  ear,  and 
thought  that  he  heard  what  for  years  he  had  not  heard, — 
the  sobs  of  weeping. 

The  fire  of  his  spirit  was  quenched,  yet  he  had  not  be- 


The  Prisoner.  69 

come  wholly  frozen  ;  a  faint  hue  stole  over  his  cheeks,  and 
his  eye  became,  for  a  moment,  less  dim  than  before. 

"  Are  these  tears  ?  "  cried  he,  in  anguish.  "  Mine  have 
long  since  been  exhausted.  I  have  shed,  them  in  rage,  in 
love,  in  tenderness,  in  despair.  Now,  if  Heaven  should 
permit  them  again  to  flow,  I  would  shed  them  ever  for 
pity,  because  the  most  acceptable  tears  to  the  Comforter 
of  the  unfortunate  are  those  of  pity,  and  .  .  ." 

"  Do  not  withdraw  your  hand  from  my  head  ;  ...  do 
not  leave  me  upon  the  path  of  life  without  your  blessing  ! " 
said  Rogiero,  his  voice  broken  by  sobs. 

Henry  did  not  reply.  Rogiero  looked  up  and  saw  him 
unmoved,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  his  words ;  he  softly 
pressed  his  hand,  and  repeated:  "  Your  blessing  !  your 
blessing ! " 

"  Blessing  !  Blessing  !  "  repeated  Henry,  as  if  echoing 
his  words,  and  then  continued  :  "  This  is  a  word  of  love. 
Men  in  the  world,"  and  he  pointed  upwards,  "  used  it  weep- 
ing. The  past  runs  incoherently  through  my  memory; 
an  alternation  of  light  and  darkness  occupies  my  mind, 
.  .  .  but  it  seems  to  me  .  .  .  certainly  I  also  was  once 
blessed  among  men.  I  cannot  remember  it  now.  .  .  . 
Ah  !  it  was  my  father  that  blessed  this  head,  which  had 
formed  the  design  of  taking  away  his  life  ! "  And  he 
smote  his  forehead,  and  prayed  and  lamented  in  a  pit- 
eous manner. 

Rogiero  restrained  him,  and  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  And 
this  blessing  speaks  in  your  favor  :  his  pardon  has  pre- 
vailed for  you  with  God,  and  every  sin  has  been  remitted 
to  you." 

"  Walcherius  !  Walcherius  !  is  this  a  sword  which  you 
place  in  my  hand  ?  Is  it  with  a  sword  that  the  son  is 
to  present  himself  before  his  father?  Do  these  words 
become  an  archdeacon  of  the  Holy  Mother  Church  ? 
These  are  words  of  the  devil.  .  .  .  Go — go ;  ...  in 
Heaven's  name,  do  not  tempt  me  ! — The  pope  ?  You 
lie ;  the  father  of  the  faithful  cannot  advise  parricide. — 
Oh !  how  beautifully  shines  that  royal  crown  ;  .  .  .  how 
brilliantly !  Do  you  love  it  ?  Ah  !  I  do  ! — Well,  it  is 
kept  for  you  at  Monza,  by  your  faithful  Milanese  ;  .  .  .  but 


70  The  Prisoner. 

mind,  between  you  and  that  crown  there  stands  a  life  :  .  .  . 
let  it  be  extinguished.  Mercy  !  mercy  !  I  have  repented 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  What  avails  it?  Will  a 
thought  blot  out  a  crime  ?  But  his  pardon  ?  What  avails 
it  ?  Will  the  deed  of  a  wicked  man  be  cancelled  by  the 
generosity  of  a  good  one  ?  But  I  have  suffered  so  much  ! 
How  long  have  I  suffered  ?  "  Here  he  searched  about 
him,  but  not  being  able  to  find  what  he  sought,  added  : 
"Time  has  consumed  the  instrument  that  enabled  me  to 
record  it,  and  I  still  live  !  Yet  I  have  said  that  I  would 
pardon  every  one,  even  Manfred — " 

"  Manfred  ! " 

"  Who  has  mentioned  him  ?  In  pity,  breathe  not  his 
name ;  .  .  .  torture  me  rather,  .  .  .  but  do  not  mention 
Manfred :  ...  it  is  a  name  that  stood  long  in  my  heart 
coupled  with  thoughts  of  blood.  Now  the  day  of  ven- 
geance is  past,  because  that  of  death  has  arrived.  Who 
would  have  supposed  it  ?  His  smile  was  the  smile  of  in- 
nocence ;  the  purest  joy  sparkled  in  his  eyes ;  .  .  .  his 
words  were  soft ;  ...  he  was  called,  by  common  consent, 
the  noblest  youth  of  Italy  :  the  maidens  sighed  for  him, 
the  troubadours  and  knights  envied  him  ;  he  was  the 
most  precious  gem  in  Frederick's  diadem.  His  face 
seemed  that  of  an  angel ;  his  heart  ...  ah  !  his  heart 
was  incomparably  base  ; — the  union  of  such  a  soul  and 
such  a  body  was  either  a  sin  or  an  error. —  Ferocious 
thirst  of  dominion  !  Manfred,  hast  thou  worn  the  desired 
crown  ?  See  and  feel  how  it  weighs  upon  the  head,  when, 
instead  of  gems,  it  bears  the  curse  of  a  despairing  soul, 
and  the  condemnation  of  God's  justice — " 

"  O  !  my  father — "  interrupted  Rogiero. 

"There  was  a  time,"  continued  the  prisoner,  placing 
his  hand  on  his  breast,  "  there  was  a  time  when,  at  that 
word,  I  felt  an  indescribable  sensation  here  more  delight- 
ful than  all  the  joys  of  earth.  Now  I  feel  nothing  more, 
nothing ;  .  .  .  I  am  dead.  I  have  no  passion  except  for 
water,  which  quenches  the  thirst  that  consumes  me." 

And  here  he  groped  about  in  search  of  the  cup. 
Rogiero  sprang  to  his  feet,  took  it,  held  it  to  his  lips, 
and,  supporting  his  head,  helped  him  to  drink.  The  old 


The  Prisoner.  71 

man  passively  obeyed  the  impulse  ;  but  when,  opening 
his  eyes,  he  for  the  first  time  noticed  Rogiero,  he  uttered 
a  faint  cry  and  made  a  repellent  gesture,  and,  half  stupe- 
fied and  half  amazed,  exclaimed,  "  Manfred  !  " 

This  exclamation  was  not  pronounced  in  so  low  a 
tone  but  that  it  reached  the  ears  of  those  who  had 
remained  at  the  grating ;  one  of  them  started  suddenly 
as  if  stung,  and  uttered  a  deep  groan. 

The  old  man  continued  slowly  :  "  Do  you  see,  Manfred, 
to  what  this  ambition  of  yours  has  reduced  me  ?  Do  you  see 
the  abyss  of  misery  into  which  an  immortal  soul  can  fall? 
And  if  you  have  a  heart  that  can  be  touched,  grieve.  .  .  . 
Ah  !  you  cannot  be  Manfred.  .  .  .  No ;  ...  he  was  of 
your  age  when  I  saw  him  last.  Years  and  suffering  have 
prematurely  prostrated  my  powers,  but  even  years  alone 
do  not  pass  without  leaving  their  trace  upon  the  creature 
destined  to  die.  Are  you  his  son  ?  What  do  you  want? 
There  is  no  crime  in  you ;  I  have  never  nourished  any 
hatred  against  you,  but  I  cannot  feel  love.  Rise,  be  com- 
forted. I  have  long  since  pardoned  your  father,  and  even" 
in  the  hour  of  my  fury,  I  never  cursed  the  children, 
or  children's  children, -of  those  who  oppressed  me.  Rise. 
.  .  .  Bid  him  be  happy,  and  be  you  happy  also.  If  the 
voice  of  one,  speaking  from  the  borders  of  the  grave 
may  prevail  with  you,  in  compensation  for  my  many  sor- 
rows, I  beg  you  to  fulfil  this  my  last  wish  :  .  .  .  bury  me 
beside  Frederick,  .  .  .  my  faHier  ;  .  .  .  without  pomp,  if 
you  wish,  without  the  crown,  although  it  could  be  no 
prejudice  to  you  to  grant  it  to  a  corpse  :  ...  it  is  sufficient 
for  me  to  sleep  beside  him." 

"  Listen  to  me,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  !  These  tears 
that  moisten  your  hands  are  those  of  your  son  Rogiero." 

The  mind  of  Henry,  as  though  overcome  by  the  effort 
of  speaking  rationally,  relapsed  into  delirium,  and,  imagin- 
ing that  he  was  conversing  with  his  wife,  daughter  of 
Leopold  the  Glorious,  Archduke  of  Austria,  he  continued 
thus:  "Agnes,  why  does  our  son  weep?  Comfort  him, 
for  he  is  the  delight  of  my  life  ;  .  .  .  his  smile  is  so  sweet. 
How  can  you  bear  to  let  him  weep  ?  Comfort  him, 
Agnes,  comfort  him.  How  glad  will  Frederick  be,  when 


72  The  Prisoner. 

you  place  this  dear  child  in  his  arms  !  .  .  .  And  why  should 
he  not  be  glad  ?  Is  he  not  his  grandchild  ? — Whose 
porphyry  sepulchre  is  that  ?  I  see  the  escutcheon  of 
Swabia,  .  .  .  Frederick  I.  ...  Glory  to  his  soul !  glory  to 
him  who  died  fighting  in  the  Holy  Land  !  .  .  .  No,  .  .  .  no, 
...  it  is  Frederick  II.  ...  Is  he  dead,  then  ?  did  he  not 
remember  me  on  his  death-bed?  I  have  no  longer  a 
father,  and  my  son  ?  .  .  .  Agnes,  where  have  you  gone  ? 
Agnes,  .  .  .  my  son  .  .  ." 

"  He  is  dying  of  grief  at  your  feet !  " 

"  He  ?     Who  ?  " 

"  Your  son." 

Henry  placed  his  hands  on  the  head  of  Rogiero,  and 
looked  at  him  fixedly  for  a  long  time ;  then  he  said, 

"  Truly  your  face  seems  that  of  a  grandchild  of  Fred- 
erick, but  if  you  are  really  my  son,  why  did  you  come 
so  late  ?  I  have  called  you  for  years  and  years,  as  from 
a  desert  of  time.  I  can  leave  you  only  an  inheritance  of 
misfortune.  All  paternal  affection  is  dead  in  my  heart ; 
.  .  .  even  the  name  of  father  sounds  to  me  as  a  remem- 
brance of  something  far  off  and  forgotten,  as  the  face  of 
a  companion  in  misfortune  appears  in  the  day  of  pride. 
If  you  came  to  see  how  sad  is  the  end  of  a  degraded 
being,  depart,  I  command  you.  If  pity  brought  you 
here,  kill  me ;  ...  do  not  tremble ;  .  .  .  kill  me ;  ...  have 
pity  'upon  me.  ...  I  am  suffering  such  fearful  torments 
in  this  hour,  in  which  I  stand  trembling  between  death 
and  life  .  .  .  such  torments  that  it  would  be  parricide  not 
to  take  away  the  life  of  your  father.  Be  sure  and  do  not 
fear  that  God  will  call  you  to  account  for  my  soul.  The 
first  prayer  that  I  shall  offer  before  His  throne  will  be  for 
you,  who  freed  me  from  so  much  pain,  and  I  will  beg 
Him  not  to  punish  you,  for  it  was  love  that  directed  your 
hand  ;  and  He  will  pardon  as  I  have  pardoned.  But 
if  Divine  Wisdom  demands  retribution,  I  will  pray  that  it 
may  fall,  not  upon  you,  but  upon  him  who  forced  his  son 
to  give  the  best  proof  of  love  for  his  father — by  killing 
him." 

He  leaned  his  head  upon  Rogiero's  shoulder,  sighing, 
but  without  tears ;  then  he  continued  impetuously, 


The  Prisoner.  73 

"  But  if  you  are  really  flesh  of  my  flesh,  if  you  are  he 
whose  childish  caresses  used  to  calm  the  tempest  of  my 
fierce  soul,  save  yourself;  .  .  .  your  enemies  are  many  and 
powerful.  Do  you  not  know  that  all  their  joy  is  in  your 
death,  all  their  fear  in  your  life?  Save  yourself;  .  .  .  for 
they  pursue  you  with  the  eagerness  of  the  hound  after  the 
deer.  Alas  !  I  thought  that  I  had  no  more  sorrows  to 
endure  ;  but  they  are  prolonged  to  infinity.  Do  not  stop 
to  embrace  or  to  kiss  me  ;  the  time  thus  lost  might  be 
fatal ;  far  dearer  to  me  would  be  the  knowledge  that  you 
were  safe.  In  Palestine  you  can  die  bravely  for  the  • 
Sepulchre  of  the  Redeemer.  Here,  take  this  relic  :  it 
will  serve  sometimes  to  remind  you  of  me  in  your 
prayers.  Pray  for  a  man  who  suffered  all  the  bitterness 
that  can  be  borne  on  this  earth  ;  pray  for  a  sinful  and 
unhappy  father,  but  go,  ...  go  ;  ...  as  you  value  your 
life,  go.  Who  knows  but  that  your  coming  here  was 
treachery  ?  Who  knows  but  that  they  would  wish  to 
sacrifice  us  together?  Did  you  hear  tha  bolts  move  ? 
It  is  too  late  .  .  .  too  late  .  .  .  they  have  fastened  the 
door,  and  forever  !  Oh  !  the  ruffians  !  the  villains  !  " 

He  rose  to  his  feet :  the  strength  which  should  have 
sustained  his  life  for  a  few  more  hours  seemed  concen- 
trated in  one  moment  ;  his  cheeks  flushed  with  a  feverish 
hue  ;  he  seized  Rogiero's  arm,  aad  pushed  him  violently 
towards  the  door  ; — he  advanced  hastily  one  step ;  a 
second  ;  at  the  third  Rogiero  felt  his  arm  released  ;  the 
miserable  Henry  fell  senseless  to  the  ground.  The  young 
man  hastened  to  assist  him  ;  the  three  mysterious  per- 
sons sprang  forward  with  the  same  object.  They  raised 
him.  His  mouth  was  covered  with  blood, — his  brow  livid, 
his  eyes  fixed.  They  felt  his  pulse  :  the  power  of  the 
imagination  over  that  sinking  frame,  with  the  shock  of 
the  fall,  had  snatched  him  from  the  living. 

Strong  emotion  took  possession  of  Rogiero's  soul ;  he 
raved  about  the  room,  calling  piteously  upon  his  father, 
and  conjuring  him  to  answer,  and  not  to  abandon  him 
to  the  power  of  his  enemies.  Often  he  broke  forth  into 
threats,  and  he  added  to  his  ravings  such  violent  gesticu- 
lations, that  the  bystanders  could  with  difficulty  restrain 
4 


74  The  Prisoner. 

him.  Finally  his  exasperation  reached  its  utmost :  an 
irresistible  desire  for  death  seized  him  ;  he  endeavored 
to  extricate  himself  from  those  who  held  him,  and  to  dash 
himself  against  the  wall.  He  did  not  fully  succeed  in  his 
design  ;  he  reached  the  wall,  indeed,  but  was  not  able  to 
escape  from  the  hands  of  the  men,  who  strove  with  all 
their  might  to  control  him.  The  blow  on  his  head,  al- 
though not  sufficient  to  kill  him,  was  enough,  however, 
to  make  him  fall  senseless  in  their  arms. 


The  time  during  which  Rogiero  was  to  mount  guard 
in  the  gardens  of  King  Manfred  had  expired.  The  cap- 
tain of  the  guard,  followed  by  four  soldiers,  went  toward 
the  larger  gate  of  the  garden,  to  relieve  Rogiero  from 
duty  and  place  another  in  his  stead.  They  saw  him  not. 
•  They  called  :  no  one  answered.  Had  he  deserted  his 
king  ?  "  Impossible  !  impossible  !  "  said  the  captain, 
and  just  then  he  stumbled  against  the  spear  which  Ro- 
giero, in  departing,  had  thrown  on  the  ground. 

Although  the  blow  pained  his  foot  keenly,  the  captain 
raised  it  without  uttering  a  word,  fearing  lest  the  soldiers, 
looking  that  way,  should  see,  in  the  abandoned  halberd, 
too  strong  a  proof  against  what  he  had  affirmed.  But  it 
was  of  no  avail ;  for,  at  the  moving  of  the  lantern,  the  pol- 
ished point  shone  brilliantly,  and  they  all  exclaimed  at 
once,  "  The  halberd  !  the  halberd  !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  captain,  shaking  his  head,  "  it  is 
undoubtedly  the  halberd  ;  it  is  not  a  story  to  which  one 
can  say,  'I  don't  believe  it;'  it  is  the  halberd.  Most 
holy  saints !  we  live  in  such  times,  that  to  put  faith  in 
others  is  as  foolish  as  to  deceive  is  wicked." 

Thus  saying,  partly  out  of  temper,  partly  confused,  he 
doubled  the  guards,  went  to  the  stables,  and  there  also  he 
missed  Rogiero' s  horse ;  hence  he  ordered  some  sol- 
diers to  mount  in  haste,  and  not  to  return  till  they  had 
heard  some  news  of  him. 


Rogiero  recovered  his  senses.  His  forehead  burned 
with  a  sharp  pain  ;  his  eyes  encountered  a  light  that 
stood  on  a  table :  he  shut  them  suddenly,  as  if  they  had 


The  Prisoner.  75 

been  wounded,  and  begged  to  have  it  removed  ;  then 
with  an  effort  he  looked  round,  and  noticed  that  he  was 
lying  upon  a  magnificent  bed,  and  that  the  mysterious 
person  who  had  spoken  so  little  was  tending  him  with 
the  affectionate  care  of  a  mother  ;  and  when  he  was  fully 
himself,  he  heard  him  utter  these  words  :  "  Thank  GOD 
that  he  has  at  last  recovered  his  senses !" 

Rogiero,  remembering  what  had  taken  place,  sprang 
from  the  bed,  and,  making  a  violent  effort  to  speak,  said, 
"  What  more  ?  " 

"  What  more  ?  "  replied  Count  della  Cerra.  "  Tears 
belong  to  women.  .  .  .  To-morrow  we  will  have  your 
father's  body  embalmed,  and  as  soon  as  possible  carried 
to  Monreale,  that  it  may  rest  -beside  that  of  Frederick. 
As  to  yourself,  if  you  wish  to  sacrifice  your  kingdom  and 
your  revenge  to  the  man  who  murdered  your  father — " 

"  One  of  us  before  long  must  die  by  the  sword  !  "  cried 
Rogiero,  excited. 

"  Perhaps  both,"  said  the  speaker  to  himself,  and  then 
added  aloud,  "Mark  well,  Rogiero:  new  governments 
are  destroyed  more  easily  than  old  ones,  since  to  the  lat- 
ter, even  if  there  is  no  more  love  felt  for  them,  habit 
gives  a  passive  strength  which  it  is  difficult  to  overcome  ; 
in  the  new,  either  from  their  having  had  no  time  to  take 
root,  or  from  their  always  falling  below  the  expectations 
of  those  who  desired  them,  this  difficulty  is  not  so  great. 
Charles,  Count  of  Provence,  is  preparing  to  wage  war 
against  this  kingdom.  We  must  invite  him  to  come ; 
we  must  aid  him  to  weaken  himself  by  weakening  Man- 
fred ;  we  must  enable  him  to  conquer  Manfred,  and  then 
fall  upon  the  count,  weakened  by  his  own  victory." 

"Well?"  said  Rogiero. 

"  Well ;  let  us  send  a  faithful  messenger  to  announce  to 
Charles  what  I  have  just  explained.  Here  are  credentials 
signed  by  the  greatest  barons  of  the  kingdom.  I  think 
that  by  this  time  Charles  must  have  entered  Monferrato  ; 
a  messenger  from  us,  by  hastening,  might  meet  him  in 
Lombardy.  If  lie  should  meet  with  any  Ghibelline 
troops,  here  are  letters  for  Buoso  da  Doara,  which  will 
let  him  pass.  But  this  is  a  very  delicate  affair ;  the  lives 


76  The  Prisoner. 

of  thousands  of  your  faithful  servants  depend  upon  the 
messenger's  loyalty." 

"  Heaven  forbid  that  when  others  are  encountering 
dangers  for  me  I  should  spare  myself.  Give  me  the 
papers  ;  .  .  .  I  will  carry  them  myself.  .  ." 

"  To  Charles  d'Anjou  ?     You,  so  ill  ?  " 

"  No  matter  ;  give  them  to  me.  Is  there  any  informa- 
tion in  these  letters  regarding  my  position  ?  " 

"  We  thought  it  best  to  conceal  it.  You  would  be  too 
precious  a  hostage  in  the  hands  of  the  count." 

"  Very  well.     Tell  me  who  you  are." 

''I?" 

"Yes.  You  ought  to  repay  confidence  with  confi- 
dence." 

"  Prince,  what  matters  it  to  you  who  I  am  ?  " 

"  Listen  :  circumstances  compel  me  to  an  act  which  has 
always  been  my  abhorrence.  Perhaps  I  might  resist 
them,  yet  I  will  not ;  I  trust  to  you,  I  abandon  myself 
wholly  to  you  ;  and  this  not  because  you  might  not  be 
traitors,  but  because  if  your  treachery  should  doom  me  to 
death,  it  would  be  welcome.  All  this  will  show  you 
that  whatever  fate  your  designs  may  bring  upon  me,  I 
shall  never  say  anything  against  you,  for  you  cannot  in- 
jure me.  Now  I  ask  of  you  a  single  proof  of  confidence, 
and  you  ask  what  matters  it  to  me  to  know  you  ?  Cer- 
tainly nothing  ;  but  what  matters  it  to  you  to  hide  your- 
self from  me  ?" 

"  If  it  depended  on  me,  I  would  already  have  revealed 
my  name  ;  but  we  are  many,  bound  by  a  common  oath 
not  to  disclose  ourselves  to  any  one.  You  will  perceive 
that  without  the  consent  of  all  I  could  not ;  .  .  .  their 
safety  ..." 

"  But  could  I  not  break  the  seal  of  these  letters,  and 
read  .  .  ." 

"  You  would  not  do  it,  and  then  .  .  ." 

"  I  should  not  find  your  name  ;  I  understand.  Be  it 
as  you  will.  Give  orders  for  my  departure.  I  require 
the  refreshment  of  the  open  air." 

"  Where  shall  we  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  At  St.  Germano." 


The  Prisoner.  77 

"  At  St.  Germane." 

This  said,  the  .Count  della  Cerra,  making  a  sign,  sum- 
moned the  soldier  Roberto,  who  led  Rogiero  out  with 
the  same  precautions  he  had  used  in  introducing  him 
there. 

As  he  went  out  of  the  room,  Count  della  Cerra  shook 
the  arm  of  Count  di  Caserta,  who  was  absorbed  in  deep 
thought,  and  said,  "  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  how  I  should  have  loved  him  if  he  had 
been  granted  to  me  for  a  son." 

"  He  is,  without  doubt,  a  handsome  stripling  ;  he  re- 
calls the  best  days  of  Manfred's  youth." 

"  Too  much,  too  much  does  he  resemble  Manfred  !  " 
cried  Caserta;  and,  rising  hastily,  he  threw  his  chair  from 
him,  and  rushed  from  the  room. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Count  della  Cerra,  in  the  fulness  of  his 
fierce  smile,  "  I  stung  him  to  the  quick."  He  paused, 
watching  the  door  through  which  Caserta  had  disap- 
peared, then  continued  :  "  Fool !  Minds  like  this,"  and 
he  touched  his  forehead,  "are  not  born  to  suffer.  So 
long  as  your  designs,  however  foolish,  aid  mine,  I  will 
help  you  ;  otherwise,  with  a  little  mock  humility  and  an 
entreaty  for  pardon,  I  will  place  you  under  the  protection 
of  the  gallows,  and  myself  under  that  of  a  throne."  And 
throwing  off  the  veil  which  covered  his  face,  he  left  the 
room  by  a  door  opposite  that  through  which  Count  di 
Caserta  had  gone. 

Rogiero,  meanwhile,  in  company  with  Roberto,  pro- 
ceeded with  the  bandage  over  his  eyes.  It  seemed  to  him 
now  that  they  were  pursuing  a  different  path,  nor  was  he 
deceived  :  reaching  the  head  of  a  street,  Roberto  took 
off  the  bandage,  and  he  saw,  with  joy,  his  horse  fastened 
to  the  knocker  of  a  half-broken  door.  This  was  his  only 
solace  during  that  memorable  night.  He  went  up  to  him, 
and,  lovingly  patting  him,  said,  "  Allah,  Allah,  you,  then, 
have  not  abandoned  your  master  !  I  am  about  to  become 
a  wanderer  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  do  you  wish  to  be 
my  companion  and  my  friend  ?  Mark,  though,  I  am  un- 
happy ! "  The  noble  animal,  as  if  wishing  to  acknowl- 
edge the  trust  that  his  master  placed  in  him,  pawed  the 


78  The  Prisoner. 

ground,  and,  raising  his  head  proudly,  showed  his  affec- 
tion by  a  sonorous  neighing.  Rogiero  continued  :  "  This 
matters  not  to  you,  Allah  !  In  good  or  in  bad  fortune,  I 
am  still  your  beloved  master.  Oh  !  men  .  .  .  men  have 
the  faculty  of  calculating  where  the  storm  is  going  to 
burst,  and  how  to  avoid  it,  when  fortune  is  about  to 
change  and  betray  you ;  and  this  faculty  of  theirs  is 
called  reason  ! " 

Having  said  these  words,  he  placed  one  hand  upon  the 
saddle,  and,  without  touching  the  stirrup,  leaped  lightly 
into  it ;  then  turning  to  Roberto,  who  had  remained  mo- 
tionless looking  at  him,  he  gave  him  his  hand,  saying, 
"  Roberto,  I  greatly  fear  that  we  may  never  see  each  other 
again,  save  in  the  valley  of  Jehoshaphat ;  but  if  we  should 
meet  again,  remember, — and  I  too  will  remember, — that 
at  the  moment  of  my  departure  I  clasped  your  hand  as  a 
friend." 

Roberto,  in  deep  grief,  raised  his  hand  to  grasp  that  of 
Rogiero  ;  and  when  he  felt  its  touch,  a  sudden  tremor 
seized  his  frame,  he  bent  his  head  sorrowfully  over  the 
hand  that  Rogiero  had  offered  him,  impressed  a  kiss,  and 
let  a  tear  fall  on  it. 

"  What  is  this,  Roberto  ?  You  have  moistened  my 
hand." 

"  May  GOD,"  replied  Roberto,  raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  and  immediately  lowering  them,  "may  GOD,  who 
ought  to  watch  over  innocence,  accompany  you  on  your 
way  !  "  Thus  saying,  he  turned  away,  but  from  time  to 
time  he  would  look  back,  stop,  then  continue  his  way  ; 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears  ;  he  breathed  heavily.  Truly, 
at  that  moment,  a  most  tierce  battle  was  raging  in  his 
soul.  Whether  the  good  or  the  bad  passion,  however, 
conquered,  we  will  not  say  at  present ;  all  that  we  can 
say  is,  that  the  victory  was  manifested  by  a  horrible  im- 
precation, joined  to  a  gesture  of  rage,  and  a  precipitate 
flight  towards  the  castle. 

The  thought  of  the  events  which  had  taken  place  did 
not  permit  Rogiero  to  take  much  notice  of  what  was 
passing  before  his  eyes ;  he  also  departed  sighing,  and 
soon  found  himself  in  the  open  country,  for  since  the 


The  Prisoner.  79 

siege  of  Corrado  the  Swabian,  Naples  had  remained 
without  walls  ;  he  let  his  reins  fall  upon  the  horse's  neck, 
and  bending  his  head  in  meditation,  did  not  heed  where 
he  was  carried. 

The  horse,  left  to  himself,  followed  the  instinct  which 
we  usually  observe  in  those  animals,  of  returning  to  their 
homes,  and  would  certainly  have  carried  Rogiero  there, 
if  by  chance  he  had  not  started  aside,  shying  from  a  stone 
that  came  in  his  way.  Rogiero  looked  up,  and  saw  with 
astonishment  that  he  was  near  the  Capuan  castle ;  his 
first  impulse  was  to  retreat  as  rapidly  as  possible,  but  he 
stopped.  The  moon  had  not  yet  disappeared,  her  last 
rays  were  shining  faintly  upon  the  many-tinted  windows 
of  the  castle ;  he  glanced  at  them  all,  but  his  eye  rested 
upon  one.  He  rose  in  his  stirrups,  stretched  his  arms 
towards  it,  and  exclaimed  with  ineffable  bitterness : 
"  Farewell  !  "  He  sank  back  in  his  saddle,  put  spurs  to 
his  good  horse,  which  sprang  forward  with  incredible 
swiftness,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  darkness ;  for  a  time 
his  distant  trampling  was  heard,  it  became  very  faint,  con- 
fused, then  ceased  entirely. 

Who  could  describe  the  emotions  of  that  fiery  spirit 
expressed  in  that  single  word,  "  Farewell"  ?  It  was  ut- 
tered to  that  fair,  sorrowful  maiden,  who  gave  him  the  first 
token  of  love,  placing  her  delicate  form  between  his  heart 
and  his  dagger.  The  music  of  her  voice,  the  beauty  of  her 
person,  her  divine  look,  the  ambrosia  of  her  kiss,  the  quiver- 
ing of  his  whole  frame  to  that  mysterious  touch,  passed 
through  his  mind  like  images  of  fire.  Hope  shone  upon 
his  soul  through  the  medium  of  imagination,  not  of  reason. 
In  thought  he  sees  a  great  assemblage  of  knights  in  gala 
dress,  he  hears  an  incessant  sound  of  bells  and  instru- 
ments ;  before  his  burning  fancy  rises  the  chapel  of  the 
Santa  Vergine  Incoronata,  the  priests,  and  the  nuptial 
rites ;  Yole  wears  the  bridal  wreath,  Manfred  accom- 
panies her ;  they  approach  the  altar,  the  ceremonies 
begin,  are  almost  finished ;  a  Crucifix,  illuminated  by 
thousand  of  tapers,  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  holy  place, 
Rogiero  raises  his  eyes  to  its  face.  Eternal  GOD  !  -  The 
brow  is  livid,  the  mouth  bloody,  the  eyes  starting  from 


8o  The  Banditti. 

their  sockets  ;  it  is  the  face  of  his  betrayed  father.  Hope 
abandons  him,  despair  seizes  upon  him,  and  transports 
him  into  "  the  blackness  of  darkness."  He  looks  intently, 
and  sees  a  form  approaching ;  its  brow  is  pale,  its  mouth 
is  bloody  :  he  feels  the  touch  of  a  hand,  then  that  of  a 
poniard  ;  hand  and  weapon  are  equally  cold.  An  irresis- 
tible power  forces  him  forward,  raises  his  hand,  armed 
with  that  poniard,  and  strikes  it  down  He  hears  a  stifled 
groan ;  the  room  is  suddenly  illuminated ;  from  the 
breast  of  Manfred  pours  a  stream  of  blood  ;  across  his 
body  lies  stretched  a  beloved  being,  her  side  also  is 
bleeding,  and  her  face  deathlike.  Rogiero  could  no 
longer  bear  the  thronging  fancies  of  his  brain,  and  fell 
back  on  his  saddle  ;  then,  as  if  to  fly  from  himself,  he 
spurred  his  horse  furiously  forward.  The  noble  animal 
rushes  like  the  wind,  his  body  is  covered  with  foam,  but 
he  will  die  of  fatigue  rather  than  not  obey  his  master's 
will.  Rogiero  !  Rogiero !  What  avails  your  flight  ? 
Whether  you  hasten  on,  or  stop,  despair  rules  supreme  in 
your  heart  ! 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    BANDITTI. 

Almen  dovria, 

Se  iniquo  fe  nel  suo  cuor,  serbar  1'esteraa 
Religion  degli  avi  nostri. 

GIOVANNI  DI  GISCALA,  Tragedia. 

At  least  he  might, 

Though  faithless  were  his  heart,  preserve  the  rite 

Our  pious  fathers  held.  M.   G.  M. 

?f|ONG  was  the  road,  the  night  dark.     The  horse 
ran  precipitously ;   for  although  accustomed  to 
understand  his  master's  will,  and  follow  it,  yet 
Rogiero  unconsciously  kept  spurring  him.     lie 
galloped  over  one  plain,  then  over  another,  and  another 


The  Banditti.  81 

still ;  he  leaped  over  hedges  and  ditches,  crossed  rivers, 
diving  into  them  up  to  the  breast;  he  was  dripping  with 
blood  and  perspiration,  and  yet  his  master  relented  not. 
This  furious  race  would  have  carried  them  both  to  certain 
destruction,  if  an  incident  had  not  luckily  prevented  it. 
A  man  mounted  upon  a  nag,  travelling  the  same  road, 
happened  to  see  the  danger  in  which  they  were,  and,  run- 
ning at  full  speed  after  Rogiero,  cried  : 

"Stop,  *stop,  Sir  Knight;  .  .  .  the  river  is  very  deep 
below  there ;  .  .  .  stop ;  .  .  .  you  will  surely  drown." 

Rogiero  heard  not  these  warnings,  and  spurring  more 
and  more,  was  fast  approaching  death.  That  man,  although 
riding  what  seemed  a  poor  nag,  still  urging  him  by  his 
voice  and  whip,  succeeded  in  overtaking  him,  and  cried 
out  again  :  "  Sir  Knight  !  you  seem  bent  on  destruc- 
tion ;  .  .  .  the  torrent  runs  fearfully  fast  at  the  end  of  this 
plain.  .  .  .  Don't  you  hear  the  roaring  of  the  waters?  .  .  . 
Don't  throw  your  life  away.  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  me?  .  .  . 
I  say  .  .  .  Sir  Knight !"  At  this  point  seizing  Rogiero' s 
horse  by  the  bridle,  he  stopped  him.  This  latter,  startled 
so  suddenly,  came  to  himself,  and  looking  around,  placed 
one  hand  upon  his  forehead,  saying  : 

"  Where  am  I  ? — Who  are  you  ?" 

"  I  am  a  poor  pilgrim,  begging  from  door  to  door  ; 
going  your  same  way,  I  happened  to  notice  in  the  twilight 
the  danger  you  were  running  into,  and  hastened  to  warn 
you  that  the  torrent  is  very  dangerous  just  below  here. 
You  seem  very  agitated,  Sir  Knight ;  still,  if  you  have 
pity,  help  a  poor  pilgrim,  and  I  will  pray  St.  Philip  and  St. 
Januarius  for  the  peace  of  your  mind  and  the  rest  of  your 
soul." 

"  Get  you  hence,  and  thank  God  that  I  don't  take  your 
life  in  recompense  for  having  saved  mine." 

"  Sir  Knight,  don't  repulse  me  so  :  God's  law  teaches  to 
love  one's  enemies.  How  can  you  hate  one  who  has  ren- 
dered you  a  service  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ask  you  for  it  ?     If  you  saved  me  from  death, 

it  is  a  sign  that  it  was  more  for  your  interest  that  I  should 

live  : — your  brain  might  not  have  conceived  this  thought, 

but  your  heart  did.     Thus  in  the  dark  I  cannot  perceive 

4* 


82  The  Banditti. 

your  face,  but  you  certainly  must  be  a  scoundrel ;  .  .  .  are 
you  not  a  man  ?  " 

"  You  add  insult  to  my  poverty.  Oh  !  not  so  did  the 
knights  of  old !" 

"  Man  !  .  .  .  I  despise  you  not  because  you  are  pooi*, 
but  because  you  are  a  man ;  and  I  want  you  to  know 
that  my  contempt  for  the  whole  race  begins  with  myself." 

"  Oh  !  for  the  love  you  bear  to  your  mother,  ...  to 
your  kindred,  .  .  ." 

"  I  know  them  not,  I  have  no  obligation  to  any.  I 
can  hate  without  remorse,  and  I  live  hating.  Get  you 
hence,  and  may  you  die  a  worse  death  than  that  you  saved 
me  from  ! " 

"O  Blessed  Mary!  Sir  Knight,  you  are  beside  your- 
self!  But  since  you  refuse  me  the  smallest  alms,  grant  me 
at  least  your  company  until  we  have  crossed  the  Campania; 
you  know  that  it  is  full  of  robbers  and  assassins  on  account 
of  the  war  between  the  Holy  See  and  King  Manfred.  Do 
not  deny  me  this.  .  .  .  May  the  eyes  of  your  lady  ever  look 
kindly  upon  you  !  " 

"  I  wish  for  no  company  :  if  you  are  weak,  why  do  you 
place  yourself  in  danger  ?  Go  ;  .  .  .  man  is  no  fit  com- 
panion for  man  ;  .  .  .  rather  the  serpent  of  the  desert.  .  ." 
Thus  saying,  he  spurred  his  horse  and  disappeared  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night. 

Morning  came.  The  sun  rose  in  the  majesty  of  its  rays, 
and  spread  heat  and  light  over  all  things.  The  waters  of 
the  river  seemed  to  rejoice  in  seeing  the  sun,  and  the  sun 
the  waters  of  the  river :  the  latter  trembled,  agitated  by 
the  morning  breeze  ;  the  former  diffused  over  them  its  rays  ; 
and  hence  arose  a  brilliant,  silvery,  incessant,  quick  spark- 
ling, which  dazzled  the  eyes,  and  yet  it  was  beautiful  to 
look  at.  It  seemed  the  joy  of  two  friends,  who  meet 
again  after  many  years  of  past  dangers  and  separation. 
The  country  rung  harmoniously  with  various  tints,  with 
songs  and  perfumes, — the  exultation  of  nature.  Jf  there 
is  an  hour  in  the  day  in  which  the  earth  shows  itself  to  us 
as  it  must  have  appeared  in  the  first  days  of  creation,  be- 
fore our  fathers  sinned,  it  is  surely  that  in  which  the  sun 
returns  to  illumine  it.  God  in  His  wisdom  granted  it  to 


The  Banditti.  83 

the  resigned  man,  who  rises  with  the  dawn  to  fulfil  the 
punishment  of  labor  which  fell  upon  the  descendants  of 
Adam  ;  or  rather  in  recompense  for  his  state,  because  the 
laborer  is  poor,  and  his  rising  with  the  sun  is  for  the  ben- 
efit of  him  who  never  sees  it,  except  when  it  begins  to 
decline.  Noon  came, — the  beautiful  noon  in  the  serene 
days  of  summer.  Is  there  anything  here  below  that  can 
compare  with  the  azure  of  the  sky  ?  The  eyes  of  beauty, 
has  said  a  sweet  poet,/0z'«/  the  way  that  leads  to  heaven,* 
but  they  cannot  resemble  it.  The  grandeur  of  the  heavens 
stands  alone,  as  the  omnipotence  of  its  Creator.  The  star 
of  life,  all  radiant  with  youth,  rejoices  to  illumine  that 
divine  vault,  and  that  vault  offers  a  boundless  field  to  the 
splendor  of  its  rays;  both  beautiful,  they  love  to  parti- 
cipate in  each  other's  beauty.  O  child  of  earth !  in  this 
happy  hour  do  not  lower  your  eyes  to  your  mother :  men 
have  despoiled  the  fields  of  the  fruits  of  labor  to  sustain  a 
life  of  misery  ; — do  not  lower  your  eyes  to  earth,  or  the 
illusion  will  vanish ;  keep  them  fixed  upon  the  heavens  ; 
God  hath  created  you  for  them. 

Hail,  all  hail,  O  sun,  that  suscitates  and  circumscribes 
life  ;  hail,  O  fountain  of  life  and  death  !  Thou  hast  seen 
with  those  same  rays  the  birthplace  and  the  tomb  of  our  first 
parents  ;  thou  shall  see  that  of  our  last  posterity  :  nations 
have  disappeared  before  thee,  like  the  waters  of  the  torrent, 
like  the  sands  of  the  desert.  Men  have  cursed  thee,  and 
thou  hast  not  ceased  to  scatter  over  them  the  blessings  of 
thy  light ;  they  have  offered  thee  incense  and  prayers  as  to 
a  God,  and  thou  hast  not  increased  thy  heat, — ever  great, 
ever  immutable  in  thy  goodness.  At  times,  a  little  cloud, 
emanation  of  terrestrial  vapor,  shadowed  those  vaults 
destined  to  thee  alone,  and  thou  irradiatedst  it  with  such 
splendor,  that  it  seemed  the  brow  of  innocence  ;  but  it 
blackened  as  ingratitude,  and  waged  war  against  thy  rays. 

*  "  Gentil  mia  donna,  i'  veggio 

Nel  muover  del  vostri  occhi  un  dolce  lume, 
Che  mi  mostra  la  via  che  al  ciel  conduce." 

PETRARCA,   Canzone,  9. 
Dear  lady  mine,  from  thy  sweet  eyes  is  given 
A  light  to  guide  my  upward  path  to  heaven. 


84  The  Banditti. 

The  serene  of  the  sky  was  lost,  but  only  for  us  ;  the 
storm  raged,  but  over  our  heads :  the  thunderbolts  were 
under  thee ;  and  thy  light,  ever  brilliant,  ever  peaceful, 
smiled  at  its  dark  life  of  one  hour. 

Will  thy  rays  be  then  eternal  ?  Whence  didst  thou 
draw  thy  fire?  How  dost  thou  preserve  it?  Shalt  thou 
survive  the  last  of  the  living?  Art  thou  by  thyself,  or  a 
stronger  power  constrains  thee  to  be  ?  No  :  let  us  bless 
it;  it  is  light  and  warm. 

Twilight  came,  which,  though  speckled  with  a  greater 
number  of  colors  than  that  of  the  morning,  falls  melan- 
choly, sad.  A  ray  of  gold  and  purple  reddens  those 
boundaries  \vhereitseemsthat  heaven,  bending  low,  joins 
the  ocean  ;  but  that  ray  is  as  a  thing  of  the  past,  and  has 
the  stamp  of  its  decay  :  it  seems  like  the  fame  of  a  con- 
queror, who,  although  gone  from  the  world,  has  entrusted 
his  memory  to  history,  in  order  that  it  may  be  revived  in 
future  ages.  This  agony  between  light  and  darkness  is 
as  solemn  as  that  between  life  and  death  ;  it  touches  all 
the  soft  chords  in  our  hearts  :  the  laborer  stops  his  work, 
the  philosopher  his  meditation,  to  allow  their  souls  free 
vent  to  their  melancholic  sensations.  This  hour  is  a  test 
for  tender  hearts :  if  a  man  met  his  enemy  and  asked  for 
pardon,  this  latter,  though  capable  of  reverting  in  the 
night  to  thoughts  of  vengeance,  and  even  to  execute 
them,  could  not  refuse  it  at  that  moment.  Unhappy  he 
who  views  the  parting  day  without  sadness  ! — thousand 
times  more  so  than  he  who  views  the  coming  morn  with- 
out feeling  joy  ! 

All  this  wonderful  panorama  of  Nature  had  passed  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  Rogiero,  who,  though  he  had  not  paid 
attention  to  it,  yet  had  felt  its  influence :  his  thoughts  in 
the  morning  had  been  full  of  wrath  ;  they  were  now  full  of 
sadness.  For  a  long  time  his  horse  could  hardly  walk, 
when  Rogiero,  unaware,  found  himself  within  a  thick 
forest ;  not  a  hut  vjsible,  no  sound  heard,  except  the  mys- 
terious rustling  of  the  leaves  agitated  by  a  light  breeze. 
He  dismounted  ;  his  body  felt  weary  ;  he  took  off  the 
bit  from  the  hoise,  who  neighed  joyfully,  as  if,  having 
performed  cheerfully  the  arduous  duty  for  his  master,  he 


The  Banditti.  85 

deserved  now  a  due  recognition  from  him.  Rogiero  pat- 
ted him  affectionately  ;  but  when,  placing  a  hand  on  his 
side,  he  felt  it  moist  with  clotted  blood,  and  the  horse 
shivered  somewhat  on  account  of  the  pain  of  the  exaspe- 
rated wound,  he  exclaimed  plaintively  :  "  Allah  !  my 
good  horse  !  See  what  thanks  you  get  from  a  man  whom 
misfortune  has  demented.  Alas  !  To  treat  the  best  of 
friends  as  one  would  his  bitterest  enemy,  is  a  sure  sign  of 
a  diseased  brain  ; "  and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven, 
sighing  bitterly.  Afterwards,  all  armed  as  he  was,  he 
stretched  himself  upon  the  ground,  using  his  shield  as  a 
pillow.  He  was  extremely  weary  ;  yet  in  the  beginning 
his  mind  was  fixed  on  a  single  thought ;  but  soon  after 
an  infinite  number  of  fancies  passed  through  his  head — 
very  distinct  in  the  beginning,  but  afterwards  broken,  dis- 
ordered, finally  confused  ;  his  heavy  eyes  gradually  closed> 
and  he  fell  asleep. 

He  had  remained  for  some  time  in  that  state,  when  he 
was  suddenly  awakened  by  a  loud  roar  of  laughter,  curses 
and  vulgar  expressions,  such  as  are  wont  among  low 
people.  At  a  short  distance  from  him,  among  the  under- 
brush, he  saw  a  fire,  and  before  it  men  of  fierce  aspect, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  who  revelled  in  a  horrid  manner ;  he 
heard  also,  when  their  infernal  uproar  subsided,  a  tearful 
voice  wailing  ;  and  to  this  answering  hoarse  laughter,  and 
words  of  mockery.  Rogiero,  drawing  his  sword,  softly 
approached  the  place,  and  easily  perceived  that  it  was  a 
party  of  banditti,  but  he  could  not  as  readily  notice  what 
was  the  cause  of  their  merriment.  Approaching  still 
nearer,  he  finally  saw  a  man,  whose  voice,  although  al- 
tered by  fear,  seemed  to  him  the  same  as  that  of  the  man 
who  in  the  early  morning  had  asked  him  for  his  company. 
His  garments  seemed  really  those  of  a  beggar,  for  he 
wore  a  pilgrim's  gray  gown  ornamented  with  shells,  as 
was  the  custom  of  those  who  went  to  the  Holy  Land  ; 
he  might  have  been  fifty  years  old,  small  in  person,  but 
looked  as  if  he  might  be  very  strong  and  active  ;  he  had 
a  pale  face  all  covered  with  wrinkles,  sunken  eyes,  but 
with  very  black  pupils. 

"Hark  ye, — for  I  want. to  convince  you  that  we  are 


86  The  Banditti. 

not  using  you  ill,  but  rather  that  it  is  for  your  good  that 
you  should  die.  We  have  searched  you  from  head  to 
foot,  and  have  found  neither  an  image  of  Saint,  nor  a 
rosary  of  the  Madonna,  but  instead  this  purse  full  of  gold 
so  bright  and  new,  that  it  is  a  real  comfort  to  look  at : 
this  of  course  it  is  better  that  we  should  keep ;  at  the 
same  time  you  yourself  must  be  convinced  that  this  can- 
not be  the  property  of  a  poor  pilgrim  ;  and  even  if  it  was, 
how  could  you,  begging  through  the  world,  collect  them 
all  new,  and  of  the  same  year  ?  £rgo,  you  are  not  a 
pilgrim.  It  remains  now  to  ascertain  whether  you  are  a 
robber  or  a  spy  ;  but  it  is  useless  to  go  at  great  length 
into  this  inquiry,  for  in  either  case  you  must  die.  If  you 
are  a  robber,  as  it  is  probable,  rivalry  of  trade,  fear  of  see- 
ing our  profession  in  too  many  hands,  now  that  business 
is  getting  rather  scarce,  counsel  us  to  kill  you  :  if  you 
are  a  spy,  the  pleasure  of  revenge,  the  assurance  of  the 
impossibility  of  your  injuring  us  in  the  future,  advise  us 
to  kill  you.  Charity,  my  brother,  is  indeed  a  great  vir- 
tue ;  but  I  have  heard  often  that,  to  be  perfect,  it  must 
begin  at  home.  Now  charity  to  you  would  operate  entirely 
contrary  to  mine  ;  you  are  weak,  and  I  am  strong;  -you 
ran.  and  I  overtook  you.  Ergo,  I  kill  you.  What  say  you 
to  my  logic  ?  " 

This  argument  was  held  by  a  bandit  who  seemed  to 
have  some  preeminence  over  the  others  :  he  was  hand- 
some, young  and  strongly  built.  His  face  though,  from 
the  middle  upward,  was  truly  frightful  on  account  of  its 
black  eyebrows  continually  scowling,  its  wrinkled  forehead 
and  threatening  eyes  ;  from  the  middle  downward,  how- 
ever, its  red  mouth  always  smiling,  and  showing  a  very 
handsome  set  of  white  teeth,  denoted  him  fond  of  wit 
and  merriment ;  his  face  was  indeed  a  contradiction,  and 
more  so  his  soul :  a  nature  unique  in  the  world,  which  I 
am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  unfold  fully  in  this  story, 
because  he  who  possessed  it  succumbed  to  a  premature 
destiny.  At  the  end  of  his  words  the  bystanders  roared 
out,  "  Drengotto  is  right,  indeed  he  is  right  !" 

The  unfortunate  pilgrim,  espying  the  moment  when  he 
would  be  heard,  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  bandit, 


The  Banditti.  87 

exclaiming:  "Beautiful  knight,  don't  stain  your  hand 
with  innocent  blood  !  you  would  commit  a  grave  sin.  I 
swear  to  you  by  the  Cross  of  our  Saviour  that  I  am  neither 
a  robber  nor  a  spy.  This  gold  was  given  me  by  a  baron 
of  Chieti,  who  lodged  me  one  night  in  his  castle,  and  or- 
dered me  to  carry  it  to  the  Abbot  of  Monte  Cassino,  to 
use  it  for  the  service  of  the  Church  and  for  the  poor.  I 
heard  in  the  neighborhood  that  he,  in  his  youth,  had  been 
a  very  wicked  man  ;  and  now,  in  his  old  age,  feeling  that 
death  was  approaching,  his  heart  had  been  touched,  and 
had  been  taken  suddenly  with  the  fear  of  the  devil ;  .  .  . 
and  you,  Sir  Knight,  do  you  not  fear  the  devil  ?  .  .  . " 
"  Why  should  I  fear  old  acquaintances  ?" 
"Ah!  do  not  injure  the  poor,  for  they  are  the  pro- 
tected of  the  Lord.  Let  me  go  my  way  ;  I  will  pray  all 
I  can  for  you.  Have  you  not  a  Christian  soul  ?  Why  do 
you  wish  mine  lost  ?  " 

"  Ne go  minor  em,  nego  minorem"  resumed  the  bandit. 
"  First  of  all,  in  order  that  your  argument  may  stand, 
you  would  have  to  prove  that  you  had  one.  But  we  will 
waive  that  question.  We  will  admit  that  you  have  a  soul ; 
if  so,  it  must  be  either  a  good  or  a  bad  one  ;  if  good, 
what  is  there  in  life  ft>  attract  you  ?  Life  is  a  succession 
of  afflictions ;  the  world  a  prison  of  wild  beasts  ;  both 
weariness  of  spirit.  Rejoice  then  that  yd*u  are  approach- 
ing the  principal  of  all  perfections ;  rejoice  that  you  are 
going  so  speedily  to  delight  in  the  inheritance  of  happi- 
ness that  the  Lord  has  promised  you.  If  bad,  the  wicked 
soul  owes  a  debt  for  his  sins,  and  I  collect  it." 

"And  who  has  given  you  this  right  over  my  life?" 
"  Might,  my  dear  brother,  might.  Do  you  think  that 
when  they  shall  have  taken  me,  and  according  to  the 
customs  and  laws  of  the  country,  burnt,  hung,  or  buried 
me  alive,  in  the  name  of  the  laws,  by  the  will  of  a  king 
Dei  gratia,  by  a-,  sentence  made  out  /;/  nomine  Domini, 
anicn,  according  to  all  the  proper  rules  and  formalities, 
full  of  quotations  from  Irnerins,  Bulgarius  and  such  old 
Baccallau>  it,  who  have  as  much  to  do  with  it  as  Pilate  in 
the  Credo,  will  they  have  in  reality  any  more  right  than 


88  The  Banditti. 

this  ? — Might,  my  boy,  might  is  the  great  Mother  Eve  of 
all  rights." 

Here  all  the  banditti,  who  had  been  very  attentive  till 
then  to  the  dispute,  cried  out  : 

"  Bravo  !  our  doctor  of  law.     Well  said,  Drengotto  !" 

"  Oh  !  Sir  Knight,  you  are  too  good  a  master  of  argu- 
ment for  a  poor  beggar  like  me  to  dispute  ;  I  conjure 
you  upon  the  soul  of  your  father,  if  he  be  dead." 

"  That  is  what  I  myself  know  not.  Poor  man  !  In- 
deed, I  remember,  he  loved  me  very,  very  much.  Every- 
body told  him  that  I  was  the  perfect  image  of  my  mother. 
He  had  me  taught  in  grammar  and  rhetoric  by  a  famous 
master  at  home,  and  when  I  was  old  enough,  he  gave  me 
books,  money,  and  a  palfrey,  and  sent  me  to  Bologna  to 
study  law  at  that  famous  university.  In  a  year  or  two, 
instead  of  law,  I  learned  all  the  vices  that  were,  are,  and 
can  be,  and  even  a  little  more.  I  contracted  all  sorts  of 
debts,  sold  all  my  books,  my  palfrey,  my  clothes,  and  re- 
turned home  in  my  shirt  sleeves.  I  made  up  a  good 
story  about  robbers,  and  my  father  believed  it.  But  I 
would  not  stay  long  at  home ;  my  father  allowed  me  too 
small  a  pittance  for  my  wants.  So,  espying  where  he  kept 
his  strong-box,  I  one  night  decamped  with  it ;  and  that  is 
the  last  I  ever  heard  of  him." 

So  saying,  he*  smiled,  but  with  such  grim  smiles,  that 
his  companions  could  not  follow  him,  nor  applaud. 

"  Now  then,  pilgrim,"  he  resumed,  "since  I  cannot  con- 
vince you  that  your  death  is  a  blessing,  let  us  see  whether 
I  can  reconcile  you  to  it  by  the  manner  I  intend  to  give 
it  to  you.  Know,  then,  that  as  I  have  been  at  a  univer- 
sity, I  propose  to  give  a  classical  Latin  death.  His 
glorious  Highness,  the  Emperor  Frederick  II., — peace  be 
to  his  soul, — among  his  other  achievements,  invented 
the  penalty  of  propaginare,  from  the  Latin  prof  ago, 
propaginis,  which  means  to  sprout,  to  shopt  out.  This,  as 
you  will  see,  is  a  very  curious  sort  of  death;  for  it  is  done 
by  digging  a  hole  in  the  ground  as  deep  as  you  are  tall, 
and  a  little  over  ;  then  thrusting  you  into  it,  head  fore- 
most, and  covering  it  over  again  with  earth.  What  say  ye 
to  that  ?  Is  it  not  really  an  imperial  idea  ?  " 


The  Banditti.  89 

"  Yes,  yes ;  let  us  propaginate  him  !  let  us  propagin- 
ate  him  !  "  yelled  in  chorus  those  fierce  men,  and  all  set 
themselves  to  work  digging  the  hole. 

"  Oh,  holy  Virgin,  aid  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  pilgrim, 
trembling  all  over. 

"For  shame!  for  shame!"  continued  Drengotto. 
"  Die  like  a  man  ;  rather  rejoice  at  the  thought  of  a  sure 
revenge.  You,  thus propaginated,  will  sprout ;  from  the 
seed  of  a  spy  must  surely  spring  the  tree  of  the  gallows. 
Comfort  yourself  then  in  the  last  hour  with  the  hope  that 
one  day  or  another  we  shall  be  the  fruits  of  your  tree." 

"  Do  not  kill  me,  most  valiant  knight,  do  not  kill  me,  for 
your  holy  baptism,  for  the  blessing  of  God  and  the  saints  ; 
keep  me  for  your  slave  ;  I  know  how  to  take  care  of  a 
horse  ;  I  will  love  you  and  yours  ;  I  will  serve  you  faithfully. 
Oh  !  release  me,  release  me  ;  death  is  such  agonizing  tor- 
ture." And  he  wept  and  sighed  desperately. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  death  is  painful  ?  You  have 
never  died  before  ;  another  time  I  may  believe  you,  but 
for  this  once  I  cannot." 

"  Oh  !  yes,  it  is  painful.  Do  you  not  see  how  I  tremble 
only  at  hearing  it  mentioned  ?  Even  you  would  tremble 
if  you  were  near  it.  Why  have  we  such  an  instinct  of  life, 
if  death  is  not  a  suffering  ? "  And  he  still  wept,  and 
implored  with  piteous  supplications. 

"  Come,  come  ! — weep  not,  brother  ;  you  really  move 
me  to  compassion.  But  consider,  even  Frederick  the 
glorious  Emperor,  who  was  a  much  greater  man  than  you, 
died  ;  even  Innocent,  the  wise  pontiff,  is  defunct ;  and  I, 
even  I,  born  of  Sir  Tafo  of  Andreuccio,  a  rich  broker  of 
Naples,  and  Lady  Ermellina  his  wife — I  even,  who  have 
studied  civil  and  common  law  in  the  University  of  Bo- 
logna, young,  handsome,  strong,  must  likewise  die.* 
We  are  all  born  with  this  proviso  ;  it  is  a  condition  sine 
qua  non  ;  eternity  only  grants  us  a  few  years  of  life  :  do 
not  weep  then  over  your  misfortune ;  or  weep  rather, 

*  This  speech  is  very  similar  to  that  of  Achilles  to  Lycaon  in  the 
twenty-first  book  of  Homer's  Iliad.  For  my  part,  I  don't  believe 
that  there  is  any  one  who  considers  it  epic  rather  than  comic. 


9O  The  Banditti. 

and  I  with  you,  for  our  unhappy  race. — Is  that  hole 
ready  ?  " 

It  is  not  to  be  told  how  the  pilgrim,  who,  by  the  com- 
passionate sound  with  which  the  bandit  had  spoken,  had 
somewhat  reassured  himself,  sunk  crestfallen  at  the  con- 
cluding sentence,  and  much  more  so  when  he  heard  re- 
peated from  all  around  :  "  'Tis  ready,  'tis  ready  !  " 

They  fell  upon  him,  though  he  strove  to  defend  himself, 
kicking  and  biting  whomever  approached  him.  Many 
times  was  he  seized,  and  as  often  he  slipped  from  their 
hands  ;  the  muscles  of  his  face  were  swollen  convulsively  ; 
he  yelled  like  a  maniac,  darting  his  eyes  here  and  there  ; 
he  used  all  the  efforts  of  despair  :  but  finally  they  succeeded 
in  holding  him  fast,  and,  turning  him  upside  down,  they 
approached  the  hole.  His  howls  became  fiercer,  if  not 
louder. 

"  Oh,  great  mother  of  God,  aid  me  !  "  he  cried  with  won- 
derful celerity.  "  St.  Januarius  !  St.  Eramus  !  St.  Philip  ! 
Angels!  Archangels!  have  mercy  on  my  soul !  Holy  mar- 
tyrs . .  .  and  confessors  .  .  ." 

''  So  much  the  better,"  interrupted  Drengotto.  "  If  he 
dies  unconvinced,  he  will  at  least  die  converted.  Hear 
how  we)l  he  recites  the  litanies  of  the  saints  ?  " 

"  Well  said,  well  said  !  "  exclaimed  those  wretches  with 
a  tumult  of  laughter.  They  had  already  reached  the  hole, 
in  spite  of  the  incredible  efforts  of  the  ill-starred  man,  and 
already  inserted  his  head  into  it,  when  suddenly  there 
were  heard  three  sounds  of  a  horn.  The  banditti,  startled, 
dropped  hold  of  the  man,  and,  careless  what  became  of 
him,  took  their  arms,  and  under  the  orders  of  Drengotto, 
they  stood  still,  as  if  about  to  receive  a  great  personage' 

They  gazed  right  and  left,  uncertain  whence  he  would 
appear  ;  for  the  forest  was  very  thick,  and  the  rustling  of 
the  leaves  prevented  their  hearing  his  footsteps.  Sud- 
denly Rogiero  perceived  a  man  of  gigantic  stature  issue 
forth  from  the  darkness,  and  reveal  by  the  light  of  the 
fire  all  the  majesty  of  his  form.  He  was  dressed  like 
the  others  of  the  banditti,  except  that  he  had  a  coat-of- 
m ail  carefully  burnished,  a  horn  at  his  side,  and  a  plume 
in  his  cap.  The  flame  of  the  fire  reflected  on  his  conn- 


„  The  Banditti.  91 

tenance  a  vermilion  light ;  he  had  strong  features,  shaggy 
eyebrows,  bloodshot  eyes,  all  the  marks  of  a  man  domi- 
neered by  fierce  passion  ;  at  the  same  time  his  proud  head, 
large  forehead,  his  chin  somewhat  turned  upward,  his  lips 
compressed,  marked  him  as  a  man  of  strong  will,  and  born 
to  rule.  That  countenance  of  his,  though  severe,  had 
nothing  hideous  in  it ;  rather  it  inspired  confidence,  as  it 
is  always  observed  in  the  aspect  of  those  who  are  strong 
both  in  mind  and  in  body.  He  was  followed  by  four 
banditti,  who  led  a  number  of  mules  loaded  with  provi- 
sions. When  they  had  advanced,  the  leader  looked 
around  to  all  his  companions,  and  with  lordly  manner 
courteously  said  to  them  :  "  Hail  !  " 

"  Hail,  all  hail  to  you,  captain  ! "  replied  the  banditti. 

"  Behold  !  God  does  not  wish  the  destruction  of  those 
who  offend  Him.  We  have  acquired  the  means  of  provid- 
ing for  a  long  time  for  our  need, — the  need  that  places 
arms  in  our  hands  against  our  fellow-men." 

"  Acquired  !  "  exclaimed  one  of  the  four  who  followed 
him.  "  Acquired  !  We  could  have  easily  done  so,  only 
you  would  bay  and  pay  for  it  with  so  many  bright  gold 
coins  of  Frederick  II." 

"  And  is  .it  not  an  acquisition,  Beltramo  ?  Nowa- 
days the  world  is  conquered  more  with  gold  than  arms  ; 
and  I  fear  it  will  be  for  a  long  time  yet." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say  to  that,"  replied  Beltramo; 
"but  certainly  that  gold  might  have  been  spared."' 

"•  Did  you  spend  it  of  your  own  ?  Did  I  ask  you  for 
your  share  ?  Oh  !  Let  us  not  weigh  our  hands  upon 
the  poor  and  oppressed  ;  let  us  teach  those  men,  who 
have  expelled  us  from  their  midst,  that  we  are  better  than 
they.  Indeed,  I  could  hp.ve  taken  away  from  those  poor 
vassals  the  goods  that  they  were  carrying  to  market  :  but 
would  you,  Beltramo,  feed  on  these  provisions  without 
thinking  of  the  tears  that  the  hard  exactor  of  the  baron 
would  cause  when  he  went  around  collecting  the  rents, 
and  they  were  unable  to  pay  on  our  account  ?  No,  no  ; 
bread  stolen  from  the  poor  does  not"  comfort  either  body 
or  soul.  This  evening,  returning  joyfully  to  their  fami- 
lies, they  will  relate  :  Five  banditti  met  us  in  our  way  ; 


92  The  Banditti. 

we  fled,  leaving  our  goods  to  save  our  lives  ;  they  could 
have  taken  them,  but  they  called  us  back,  and  paid  for 
them  more  than  we  could  have  got  at  the  market.  And 
when  they  pray,  I  feel  certain  that  they  will  remember 
us,  and  God,  listening  to  the  prayers  of  His  chosen, 
will  look  down  upon  us  with  mercy,  will  see  our  misery,' 
and  will  remove  us  from  this  life  of  torment  to  ourselves, 
and  of  fear  to  others.  God  is  merciful  in  His  works." 

"  Amen,"  said  Drengotto,  in  an  undertone. 

"Why  do  you  say  amen,  Drengotto?"  asked  a  bandit 
who  stood  near  him. 

"  Because  the  sermon  is  over ;  indeed  it  will  certainly 
end  with  a  cord  either  to  the  loins  or  to  the  throat''  * 

"  Drengotto  !  "  called  the  leader. 

Drengotto  moved  boldly  to  the  front,  replying  :  "Ad- 
sum,  captain." 

"  Give  me  an  account  of  the  day." 

"  Very  little  to  report,  Sir  Ghino.  We  have  been  tramp- 
ing backward  and  forward  from  the  wood  to  the  river  all 
day  long,  but  have  met  neither  a  Christian  nor  a  Saracen. 
Returning  towards  evening  with  empty  hands,  our  dogs, 
snuffing  and  barking,  rushed  into  a  thicket,  and  we  after 
them  ;  here  we  perceived  that  they  had  got  hold  of  a 
beast  of  a  pilgrim,  who  lies  there  on  the  ground  ;  we 
hastened  to  liberate  him,  for,  had  we  delayed,  they  would 
have  devoured  him." 

"  That  is  well." 

"  Some  of  us  proposed  to  let  him  go ;  but  I,  having 
full  delegated  powers  from  you,  objected,  saying  :  Let  us 
see  first  whether  this  good  pilgrim  carries  about  him  relics 
or  beads;  upon  these  holy  things,  sinners  as  we  are,  we 
will  not  put  our  hands  ;  but  if  he  possess  any  silver,  gold, 
or  precious  stones,  we. will  take  them,  for  these  are  vani- 
ties unworthy  of  religious  men.  After  this  we  began  to 
search  him,  and,  mirabilevisrt,  wonderful  sight !  he  carried 
neither  rosaries  nor  relics  of  saints,  but  instead  this  purse 
full  of  golden  agostaries." 

"  O  most  valiant  baron,  for  the  honor  of  your  name, 

*  To  turn  monk  or  be  hung. — TR. 


The  Banditti.  93 

for  the  souls  of  your  dead,  save  me  from  that  cruel  man, 
who  in  words  and  deeds  seems  Lucifer  himself.  Behold 
he  has  prepared  a  ditch  to  bury  me  alive."  Thus  inter- 
rupted the  pilgrim,  who,  having  heard  the  mild  speech  of 
the  chief,  had  risen  on  his  knees,  and  thus  dragged  him- 
self to  his  feet.  The  banditti,  seeing  him  appear  in  that 
attitude,  with  the  fear  of  death  in  his  face,  covered  with 
mud  and  dirt,  broke  out  in  loud  laughter,  which  was  soon 
repressed  by  a  look  from  the  stern  chief. 

"  Rise,"  said  Ghino.  "  Man  never  should  kneel  to 
man  ;  "  and  unbinding  his  hands,  he  added,  "  Go  ;  you 
are  free."  Then,  without  waiting  for  his  thanks,  he  turned 
to  Drengotto,  saying  :  "  Is  it  true  what  I  have  heard  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  true." 

"  Why  did  you  wish  to  do  this  ?  " 

"Oh !  for  a  mere  joke  ;  we  only  desired  thus  to  have 
an  example  of  the  manner  in  which  the  Emperor  Fred- 
erick executed  our  colleagues  whenever  they  fell  into  his 
hands." 

"  You  have  transgressed  one  of  the  laws  of  our  com- 
pany ;  you  deserve  a  punishment." 

"  Who  has  made  these  laws,  captain  ?  " 

"  Our  free  will." 

.  "  Who  has  made  a  thing  can  unmake  it.  Everything 
changes  in  this  world — religious  customs,  heaven  and 
earth  ;  and  a  banditti's  code,  made  after  supper,  with  a 
goblet  in  the  hand,  shall  not  change  ?" 

"Who  is  he  that  wishes  to  change  these  laws  here?" 
cried  Ghino,  in  a  voice  that  made  his  companions 
shudder,  and  turning  his  eyes  around  in  such  manner 
that  caused  those  they  met  to  be  cast  down.  "  Who  is  he 
that  wishes  to  change  them  here?  Our  little  society 
made  these  laws  by  free  consent,  and  /  will  have  them 
obeyed." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  of  laws,"  exclaimed  Drengotto, 
mockingly;  "no  one  is  more  convinced  of  their  absurdity 
than  I  who  studied  them  at  Bologna.  Our  laws  are primo 
mihi  ...  I  ..." 

"  Wretch  !     What  avails  you  the  blood  of  a  weak  man  ? 


94  The  Banditti. 

What  pleasure  or  what  utility  can  you  derive  by  barbar- 
ously killing  a  man  who  implores  your  pity  ?  Remember 
that  one  day  you  also  shall  be  judged." 

"  Well,  every  man  has  his  opinions,  and  mine  is  this. 
There  lived  a  people  once,  who  used  to  murder,  out  of 
pity,  all  the  deformed  of  body,  and  they  have  been 
praised ;  then  why  should  I  be  blamed  for  killing  the  de- 
formed of  spirit,  which  is  worse  ?  Antiquity,  Sir  Ghino, 
is  esteemed  the  alma  mater  of  useful  knowledge." 

"  Who  are  you  that  pretend  to  scrutinize  the  thoughts 
of  man  ?  What  proofs  had  you  that  he  was  a  spy?  If 
these  are  your  sentiments  you  deserve  more  than  ever  to 
be  punished.  And  you  should  remember  that  the  weak 
were  never  killed  but  by  the  coward." 

"By  this  it  seems  that  you  accuse  me  of  being  a  cow- 
ard ;  I  will  call  you  honest,  and  we  shall  have  both  lied, 
or  said  a  stupid  thing  each." 

"Drengotto!" 

"  Oh,  come  now  !  Let  us  throw  aside  this  mask  of  virtue, 
which  does  not  become  us,  whose  trade  is  to  rob  in  the 
highways  ;  it  makes  us  look  like  the  devil  in  a  monk's 
cowl.  Let  us  look  on  ourselves  in  all  our  nakedness.  It 
is  repulsive,  but  we  have  the  courage  to  bear  it.  Let  us 
call  ourselves  openly  assassins  ;  what  is  the  use  of  hiding 
it  ?  nobody  would  believe  us.  Mark  this,  be  it  an  honor, 
or  a  stain,  every  one  of  us  carries  the  stamp  of  Cain  upon 
his  forehead  ;  you  may  pull  down  the  cap  over  your  eyes 
as  much  as  you  please  ;  the  mark  will  pierce  through  the 
cloth  and  show  itself.  Let  us  at  least  be  sincere,  for  we 
cannot  deceive  ourselves  by  feigning  ;  let  us  renounce 
the  pretence  of  a  virtue  from  which  we  derive  no 
other  benefit  than  the  devil's  mockery.  To  be  thus 
fully  rascals,  without  laws,  is  more  to  our  purpose  than 
to  pretend  to  be  honest  with  them.  In  the  first  case 
we  are  always  on  our  guard,  because  we  keep  constant 
watch  over  each  other ;  in  the  latter  case  we  trust,  and 
get  betrayed  ;  and  then  what  remains  ? — the  halter.  I 
would  bet  this  Damascus  sword  of  mine,  that  you  yourself, 
with  all  your  generosity,  if  the  Pope  or  King  Manfred 
would  promise  you  an  estate,  on  condition  of  betraying 


The  Banditti.  95 

us,  you  would  without  a  moment's  hesitation  sell  us  all,  like 
sheep  to  the  butcher,  body  and  soul  .  .  ." 

"  Drengotto  ! "  cried  Ghino,  and  his  hand  flew  to  his 
dagger. 

But  the  wretch,  continuing  his  sarcastic  loquacity, 
continued  :  "  But  we  keep  a  watch  on  you,  because 
we  have  no  better  opinion  of  you,  than  you,  if  you  are 
wise,  ought  to  have  of  ourselves.  Hence  let  every  one  do 
as  he  pleases  ;  let  us  be  united  while  we  can.  When  we 
cannot,  we  will  destroy  each  other,  as  it  will  be  most  use- 
ful to  us.  In  the  meanwhile  allow  us  \.Q  propaginate  our 
pilgrim.  Liberty  of  action  !  hurrah  for  liberty  !  " 

"Liberty  of  action!"  cried  some  of  the  band  fero- 
ciously, and  started  to  seize  again  the  pilgrim  ;  but  this 
latter,  taking  advantage  of  the  dispute,  had  crawled  cau- 
tiously behind  them,  and  taken  to  his  heels,  so  that  by 
this  time  he  was  miles  off.  Having  thus  remained  de- 
feated in  their  intent,  they  wanted  to  let  the  dogs  loose, 
search  him  through  the  forest,  find  him  by  all  means,  and 
propaginate  him.  Ghino  however,  seconded  by  a  part  of 
them,  drew  his  sword,  exclaiming  :  "  I  forbid  it." 

"  Let  us  do  it,  or  we'll  kill  you  ! "  cried  the  followers 
of  Drengotto. 

"  Kill  me  ?  mean  rascals  ! "  cried  Ghino,  brandishing 
his  sword.  "  Come  on  !  " 

"  Come  on  !  "  And  they  would  have  come  to  blows, 
had  not  Drengotto  interposed,  saying  : 

"  Peace  !  peace  !  my  masters  !  Listen  to  me  first. 
Ghino,  as  you  perceive,  we  hold  two  different  opinions ; 
we  shall  never  be  able  to  agree  with  words.  We  may  talk 
and  talk  even  to  the  last  day,  each  would  persist  in  his 
own  idea  ;  and  besides,  it  would  take  too  long  for  one  to 
convince  the  other :  let  us  settle  it  with  the  poniard, 
which  is  the  shortest  way.  Let  us  not  do  like  the  poten- 
tates of  the  earth,  who,  when  they  have  a  quarrel  to  settle 
between  them,  oblige  the  herds  of  men  to  murder  each 
other  in  the  name  of  glory,  without  knowing  why.  Why 
should  our  companions  kill  each  other,  and  thus  disap- 
point the  gallows  ?  The  quarrel  was  between  us  two, 


96  The  Banditti. 

let  us  settle  it  between  ourselves ;  let  us  trust  to  the  judg- 
me?it  of  God"  * 

"  And  God  has  doomed  you,  for  my  sword  has  never 
missed  a  blow." 

"  I  know  this  too  well ;  nor  must  you  imagine  that  I 
want  a  regular  duel  with  you  ;  you  are  stronger  and  more 
skilful  in  arms  than  I.  You  have  practised  sword  and 
lance  ever  since  your  childhood,  while  I  was  reading 
codes  and  comments  in  the  University  of  Bologna.  Let  us 
fight  so  that  no  one  of  us  should  have  any  advantage  over 
the  other.  Let  us  throw  our  poniards  on  the  ground,  take 
the  distance  of  one  hundred  steps,  you  on  one  side,  I  on 
the  other.  At  the  given  signal  we  will  both  run  to  seize 
them  :  who  reaches  first,  strikes.  What  say  you  to  that  ?  " 

The  banditti  were  silent.  Ghino  sheathed  his  sword, 
drew  the  poniard,  and  showing  it  to  Drengotto,  said  : 

"  You  wish  it  ?  Hark  ye,  I  have  overtaken  the  goat 
in  his  flight,  and  God  will  put  wings  to  my  feet,  because 
it  is  His  cause." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you.  What  is  the  use  of  talk- 
ing any  more  ?  Our  companions  expected  to  see  the 
pilgrim  propaginated.  He  escaped  on  your  account ; 
they  must  have  a  feast -at  any  rate." 

"Be  it  as  you  will,  and  your  blood  be  on  your  own  head." 
*.  Saying  this,  Ghino  stood  a  moment  pensive  ;  then, 
shaking  his  head,  threw  the  poniard  down  so  violently 
that  it  stuck  more  than  half  in  the  ground  ;  then,  turn- 
ing his  back,  was  about  proceeding  to  his  post.  Dren- 
gotto spied  this  movement,  and  rushing  swiftly  was  on 
the  point  of  treacherously  stabbing  Ghino  in  the  back, 
when  the  blade  of  a  sword,  emerging  from  behind  a  tree, 
struck  the  assassin's  arm  with  so  much  force,  that  his 
hand  fell  severed  to  the  ground.  The  wounded  man  ut- 
tered a  piercing  cry,  remained  a  moment  standing,  finally 
fell  in  a  swoon.  Ghino  turned  his  head  ;  he  compre- 
hended the  whole  at  one  glance,  and  exclaimed  :  "  There 
lives  a  God  who  punishes  treachery !  " 

*  Thus  was  called  in  those  days  a  duel  for  the  settlement  of  a  pri- 
vate quarrel. — TR. 


The  Banditti.  97' 

The  banditti,  amazed  and  terror-struck,  bent  low  their 
heads,  muttering  in  spite  of  themselves:  "There  is  a 
God!" 

How  was  it  that  Rogiero  had  remained  immovable  at 
the  adventure  of  the  pilgrim,  and  came  so  readily  to  the 
rescue  of  the  chief  of  the  banditti  ?  This  will  be  easily 
explained  by  recalling  what  Lavater  says  respecting  the 
different  effects  of  physiognomies.  "  We  meet  some- 
times certain  faces,"  says  he,  "  that  at  the  first  sight  be- 
come the  pleasure  of  our  eyes,  and  the  joy  of  our 
hearts.  They  seem  to  us  as  faces  that  we  must  have 
met  before ;  we  love  them  without  knowing  why,  or 
being  able  to  help  it :  while,  on  the  contrary,  we  meet 
others  which  inspire  us  with  a  feeling  of  repugnance  and 
aversion  ;  our  reason  may  prevent  our  hating  them,  but 
they  will  never  inspire  love  in  our  souls."  This  feeling 
must  have  actuated  Rogiero. 

His  sudden  appearance,  the  rich  armor  he  wore,  and 
the  beautiful  face,  gave  him  the  air  of  St.  George  con- 
quering the  dragon,  and  the  superstitious  minds  of  the 
banditti  would  have  adored  him  for  a  St.  George,  or  a 
St.  Michael,  if  Ghino,  advancing  frankly,  and  taking  him 
by  the  hand,  had  not  said :  "  I  owe  you  my  life,  brave 
knight." 

Nor  did  he  say  more,  but  the  manner  with  which  those 
words  were  spoken  showed  Rogiero  that  he  had  found  a 
friend,  one  who  would  have  given  his  property,  his  life, 
his  whole  to  see  him  happy;  showed  him,  in  fact,  all  those 
feelings,  which  no  language  in  the  world  can  express,  and 
even  if  it  could,  the  heart  jvould  disdain  to  proffer,  for 
profound  gratitude  is  dumb. 

These  events  took  place  in  a  very  short  space  of  time. 
Ghino,  having  welcomed  Rogiero,  turned  immediately  to 
Drengotto,  and  helped  his  companions,  fastening  as  best 
they  could  the  severed  arteries,  so  as  to  prevent  the 
further  effusion  of  blood.  Then  he  ordered  four  men  to 
lift  him  up,  and  carry  him  gently  to  his  hut,  he  supporting 
the  head.  As  they  went  on,  the  wounded  man  came  to 
his  senses,  and  raising  his  eyes,  saw  Ghino,  to  whom  in  a 
feeble  voice  he  spoke  thus  : 
5 


98  The  Banditti. 

"  What  a  curious  man  you  are,  Sir  Ghino  !  Now  what 
do  you  mean  by  this  pretended  compassion  ?  You  neither 
ought  nor  can  feel  any  for  me.  Did  I  not  attempt  to  kill 
you?  —  and  treacherously,  fools  would  say.  What  is 
treachery?  You  offended  me,  I  had  a  right  to  a  revenge  ; 
I  could  not  obtain  it  by  fight ;  it  would  have  been  adding 
injury  to  insult,  for  you  were  the  stronger ;  I  attempted 
it  as  best  I  could  ;  I  did  not  succeed  ; — patience  !  It 
was  a  quarrel  between  us  two ;  chance  decided  it  against 
me ;  and  I  grieve  no  more  at  it  than  the  physician 
whose  patient  dies,  or  the  lawyer  who  has  lost  a  case. 
Do  go,  .then  ;  this  compassion  of  yours  is  an  insult  to  me. 
What  matters  if  I  have  a  hand  the  less  ?  Nature  has  pro- 
vided for  it,  for  she  has  given  us  two.  Since  we  are 
born  to  die,  it  is  best  that  we  go  off  by  degrees  rather 
than  all  at  once.  In  this  way  we  get  used  to  it: — first 
a  hand,  then  a  foot.  Somebody  had  to  pay  for  the 
fiddle  ;  it  fell  to  my  lot  ; — patience  !  Indeed,  betting  has 
always  been  my  ruin  !  " 

Ghino  endeavored  to  soothe  him,  but  he  had  again 
fallen  into  a  swoon.  On  arriving  at  the  hut,  the  leader 
ordered  Beltramo  to  take  good  care  of  him,  and  watch 
over  him  during  the  night ;  then  .turning  to  the  others  who 
had  followed  him,  said,  with  a  solemn  voice  :  "  Let  Dren- 
gotto's  fate  be  an  example  to  you  ;  I  pardon  the  guilty." 

After  which,  offering  Rogiero  hospitality  for  the  night, 
he  led  the  way  through  some  very  intricate  paths  of  the 
forest  to  his  dwelling.  Rogiero  willingly  accepted,  for, 
besides  experiencing  a  great  need  of  food  and  rest,  he 
derived  great  pleasure  from  Ghino' s  society.  We  will. let 
them  go,  for  Ghino  knows  the  way  ;  we  will  instead  put 
an  end  to  this  chapter,  and  to  the  life  of  Drengotto. 

The  banditti,  dismissed  by  Ghino,  dispersed  with  vari- 
ous feelings  and  deep  thoughts. 

The  four  who  had  carried  Drengotto  laid  him  upon  the 
bed,  and  Beltramo,  turning  pitifully  to  his  companions, 
said,  "  Would,  you  have  the  heart  to  leave  him  alone  ?  " 

"  Are  you  not  enough  ?  "  replied  one  of  them  ;  "  what 
could  we  do  here  all  night  long  ?  " 

"  We  will  play  dice,"  added  Beltramo. 


The  Banditti.  99 

"  In  that  case  I  will  remain." 

"  So  will  I. — And  I,"  replied  the  others. 

But  Beltramo,  who  had  a  spark  of  humanity  more  than 
the  rest,  observed  that  Drengotto  seemed  yet  in  a  swoon, 
to  which  the  others  replied  that  he  was  surely  asleep. 
Deceived,  if  not  convinced,  by  their  assertion  that  he  was 
asleep,  he  put  his  conscience  at  rest,  and  took  out  the 
dice. 

"  We -have  no  wine  !  "  they  all  exclaimed  ;  but  one  of 
them,  who  was  very  impatient  to  begin  the  game,  ob- 
served :  "Look  on  that  table;  don't  you  see  how  well 
Drengotto  is  provided  with  it?  Let  us  drink  this,  for  it 
would  take  too  long  to  fetch  it  from  our  huts  ;  if  Dren- 
gotto lives,  we  will  restore  it  to  him ;  if  he  dies,  we  shall 
have  drank  it  free,  which  turns  vinegar  into  Greek*  as 
the  poet  says." 

They  laughed  at  the  joke.  Then  taking  the  flasks  of 
wine  and  some  candles,  sat  themselves  in  a  circle  on  the 
floor  and  began  to  play.  They  had  already  played 
several  games,  and  drank  as  many  flasks  of  wine,  when  a 
voice,  that  seemed  to  come  from  under  ground,  called, 
"  Beltramo  !  " 

"  You  are  awake,  Drengotto  ?  I  come  directly, — it  is 
my  turn  now, — I  will  throw  the  dice,  and  come  to  you." 

"  Beltramo  !  " 

"  Here  I  am — give  me  the  dice — there  is  a  good  throw  ! 
six  and  four  is  ten,  and  three,  thirteen — mark  them,  Cag- 
nazzo,  the  game  is  not  lost  yet."  Then  getting  up,  he 
went  to  the  wounded  man's  side,  who  said  to  him  : 

"  Beltramo,  while  I  was  in  a  swoon  .  .  ." 

"  What !  were  you  not  asleep  ?  "  exclaimed  Beltramo, 
with  great  astonishment. 

"While  I  was  in  a  swoon,"  continued  Drengotto  with- 
out minding  him,  "  either  I  made  some  movement,  or  the 
bandage  .  .  ." 

"Three,  three  !  I  only  need  one  to  win  the  game  !" 
shouted  a  bandit. 


*  Excellent  Italian  wine,  so  called  because  the  original  vines  had 
been  first  introduced  from  Greece. 


100  The  Banditti. 

"  It  is  your  turn,  Beltramo  ;  they  ne.ed  only  one  to 
win." 

"  Only  one  !  How  can  that  be  ? — wait  one  moment, 
Drengotto,  I  will  throw  the  dice,  and  return." 

"  The  bandage  was  badly  fastened,  and  the  blood  .  .  ." 

Beltramo  stopped  short^  "  The  blood  ?  "  repeated  he 
carelessly,  and  then  added  :  "  Cagnazzo,  throw  for  me, 
for  I  can't  now." 

"  The  blood  of  my  body  oozed  entirely  away  from  my 
open  veins,  and  I  am  dying  : — look  ! "  He  removed  the 
covering — miserable  spectacle  !  He  was  weltering  in 
blood. 

"  Thirteen  ! — Won  ! — We  have  won,  Beltramo  ; — they 
are  losing  five  games." 

"  Mark  them  in  the  wall,  to  avoid  questions.  .  .  . 
Blessed  Virgin  !  Why  did  you  not  call  me  before,  Dren- 
gotto ? "  said  Beltramo,  endeavoring  to  rebind  the 
wound. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  now,"  replied  Drengotto,  smiling.  "  It 
is  all  over,  consummatum  est, — I  called  you  only  to  hear 
my  will ;  and  you  also,  my  companions,  come  near  and 
be  witnesses  to  my  last  wishes." 

The  banditti,  who  had  finished  the  game,  and  without 
the  fourth  could  not  go  on  well,  arose,  and  each  with  a 
glass  in  their  hands  approached  the  bed  of  the  wounded 
man.  He,  seeing  them  all  ready  to  listen,  began  : 

"  On  this  twelfth  day  of,  etc.  .  .  .  etc.  .  .  .  Whereas  I  am 
fast  approaching  my  end  .  .  .  with  a  very  sound  mind,  as 
it  has  always  been  ;  I  leave  my  soul  to  whomever  it  be- 
longs, and  my  body,  considering  that  its  skin  is  not  worth 
much,  to  the  '  beasts  of  the  field,'  and  the  '  fowls  of  the 
air.' — Item,  I  leave  my  arms  and  clothes  to  whoever 
gets  hold  of  them. — Item,  my  money  to  you  four  that 
you  may  have  masses  performed,  or  gamble  it  away  at 
dice. — Item,  to  all  of  you  the  wine  that  I  possess  in  my 
hut,  so  that  you  may  spend  this  night  merrily  and  the 
next,  if  there  happen  to  be  any  left  .  .  ." 

"  Oh  !  we  have  already  taken  it,"  they  all  exclaimed. 

"  So  much  the  better  ;  let  the  notary  expunge  that 
item"  said  the  dying  man,  smiling.  "  Then  I  institute 


The  Banditti.  101 

sole  heir  of  all  my  debts  Beltramo  di  Tafo,  who  has 
watched  me  so  tenderly  in  this  my  last  illness." 

"  Oh  !  small  matter,  small  matter,  Drengotto.  You  in 
xny  case  would  have  clone  the  same." 

"  I  suppose  so,  Beltramo.  I  beg  you  only  for  a  special 
favor,  and  conjure  you  not  to  deny  it  to  our  old  friend- 
ship. Should  they  take  a  notion  to  bury  my  body,  look 
for  my  hand,  it  must  have  been  left  there  in  the  wood — 
and  place  it  in  my  grave  beside  me,  so  that  I  may  easily 
find  it  when  the  archangel  shall  call  in  the  last  day  of 
judgment ;  otherwise  who  knows  where  on  earth  they 
will  throw  it,  and  I  may  be  delayed  a  long  time  searching 
for  it,  when  I'd  rather  be  of  the  first,  to  hear  what  they 
are  going  to  do  with  me."  .  .  .  Here  he  smiled,  but  it  was 
his  last.  His  lips  trembled,  his  teeth  chattered  violently, 
his  eyes  opened  and  shut  with  the  same  velocity  as  the 
wings  of  a  butterfly  when  first  caught.  This  convulsive 
agony  lasted  a  very  short  time,  gradually  it  became 
feebler  and  feebler ;  it  ceased  at  last,  and  of  that  creature 
there  was  only  left  me  corpse. 

The  banditti,  who  surrounded  the  bed  with  glasses  in 
their  hands,  seeing  him  expire,  lifted  them  up  to  their 
lips,  saying  :  "  This  also  is  ended, — peace  to  his  soul !  " 
and  emptied  them  ;  then,  covering  the  body  with  a  cover- 
lid, returned  to  gamble  away  at  dice  the  dead  man's 
money. 


102  The  Palmer. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    PALMER. 

— la  luce  di  Romeo,  di  cui 

Fu  1'opra  grande  e  bella  mal  gradita. 
Ma  i  Provenzali,  che  fer  contra  lui, 

Non  hanno  riso  :  e  pero  mal  cammina 

Qual  si  fa  danno  del  ben  fare  altrui. 
Quattro  figlie  ebbe,  e  ciascuna  reina, 

Ramondo  Berlinghieri,  e  cio  gli  fece 

Romeo,  persona  umile  e  peregrina ; 
E  poi  il  mosser  le  parole  biece 

A  dimandar  ragione  a  questo'giusto, 

Che  gli  assegnj  sette  e  cinque  per  diece. 
Indi  partissi  povero  e  vetusto ; 

E  se'l  mondo  sapesse  il  cuor  ch'egli  ebbe 

Mendicando  sua  vita  a  frusto  a  frusto, 
Assai  lo  loda,  e  piu  lo  loderebbe. 

DANTE,  Paradiso,  Canto  6. 

The  lustre  shines  of  Romeo,  whose  meed 

For  fair  and  goodly  works  wJs  rendered  not. 
The  Provencals,  they  who  'gainst  him  proceed, 

Have  little  cause  for  mirth:  ill  fares  his  way 
Who  draws  from  others'  good  his  own  ill  deed. 

Four  daughters  had  Count  Raymond  Berenger, 
And  each  became  a  queen  through  Romeo. 

Yet  he  was  humbly  born,  of  foreign  clay. 
But  envious  tongues  the  count  affected  so, 

He  asked  that  just  man  reckoning  of  his  store, 
Who  would  for  ten  a  twelve-fold  increase  show. 

Then  Romeo  departed,  old  and  poor  : 
But  were  that  lofty  courage  known  to  men, 

With  which  he  begged  a  crust  from  door  to  door, 
More  than  their  present  praise  were  given  him  then. 

M.   G.   M. 

GOOD  Romeo  (a  palmer),*  returning  from  St. 
Jacopo  di  Galizia,  was  dragging  his  weary  steps 
towards  night-fall  through  the  streets  of  Mar- 
seilles ;  weakened  by  years  and  by  the  length  of 
his  journey,  he  sought  for  an  inn  where  for  that  night-he 

*  Romeo,  a  palmer,  but  more  properly  those  that  returned  from 
a  pilgrimage  to  Rome,  yet  used  also  for  those  who  returned  from 
Palestine. 


The  Palmer.  ,        103 

could  rest  his  aching  limbs.  Having  passed  through  many 
streets  of  the  city,  he  stopped  at  length  before  a  splendid 
palace,  whence  proceeded  a  brilliant  light,  and  the  harmo- 
nious sounds  of  music  and  singing;  he  saw  ladies  and 
knights,  richly  dressed,  passing  and  repassing ;  he  saw 
squires  very  busy,  stewards  running  here  and  there  with 
their  silver  maces,  for  all  was  conducted  in  the  best  order, 
and  seneschals,  and  men-servants  bearing  up  and  down 
the  stairs  most  precious  vases  with  exquisite  refreshments  : 
all,  in  short,  bore  witness  to  a  great  feast  within.  The 
palmer  approaching  one  of  the  men  assembled  before  the 
door,  asked  him  a  simple  question,  and  learned  that  the 
palace  belonged  to  Monseigneur  Raymond  Berenger, 
C.ount  of  Provence.  At  this  time  the  great  renown  of 
Count  Raymond  was  spread  through  ail  Christendom,  for 
he  came  of  high  lineage,  having  the  same  origin  as  the 
House  of  Arragon  and  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  and  was 
also  a  very  prudent,  courageous  and  courteous  lord,  and 
a  doer  of  all  heroic  deeds.  The  bravest  knights  of  Pro- 
vence, France,  and  Catalonia  repaired  to  his  court,  as 
also  the  most  celebrated  troubadours  of  those  times,  and 
he  himself  took  much  pleasure  in  breaking  a  lance  in  the 
tournament,  or  in  singing  a  love  song  in  the  company  of 
ladies. 

The  palmer  decided  how  to  test  the  courtesy  of  the 
count,  and  without  another  thought  walked  boldly  into 
the  court.  The  knights  wondered  that  a  beggar  should 
have  the  audacity  to  come  among  them,  and  each  one 
avoided  him,  and,  as  if  fearful  that  their  silken  garments 
should  be  soiled  by  touching  those  of  the  poor  pilgrim, 
they  drew  back  ;  it  thus  happened,  that  instead  of  degrad- 
ing him,  as  they  had  expected,  they  exalted  him,  for  he 
advanced  alone,  between  two  files  of  ladies  and  cavaliers, 
who,  however  scornfully  disposed  they  might  have  been, 
did  not  manifest  their  ill-feelings  externally,  and  that  at- 
titude was  very  respectful. 

Count  Raymond,  who,  in  order  to  enjoy  a  full  view  of 
the  revel,  was  seated  upon  a  throne-like  platform,  elevated 
in  the  principal  part  of  the  hall,  no  sooner  saw  the  palmer 
advance,  than  he  descended,  and  going  to  meet  him,  gave 


IO4  The  Palmer. 

him  a  gracious  reception,  saying  :  "  Good  palmer,  you 
are  most  welcome  to  our  court;  dispose  of  everything 
around  you,  as  may  best  give  you  pleasure,  for  we  wish 
you  to  be  here  as  lord  and  master." 

"  Monseigneur  Count,  now  I  see  that  report,  although 
it  speaks  highly  of  your  courtesy,  cannot  say  so  much, 
but  that  it  falls  short  of  the  truth.  I  came  here  to  make 
the  experiment,  whether  in  the  hour  of  pride  you  would 
disdain  to  look  upon  a  servant  of  God,  weakened  by- 
years  and  weary  with  his  journey  ;  but  you,  count,  have 
left  pride  to  the  coward  hearts  which  have  yielded  to  its 
power,  and  although  they  may  conceal  it  with  bones  and 
flesh,  they  cannot  hide  it  from  the  eye  of  the  Eternal." 
He  then  glanced  severely  towards  the  knights,  who,  too 
good  courtiers  to  avoid  the  look,  smilingly  returned  it. 
The  good  pilgrim,  disdaining  their  flatteries  as  he  had 
their  scorn,  continued  speaking  to  Count  Raymond. 
"  You  are  not  ashamed  to  fulfil  the  hopes  of  the  poor, 
who  put  their  trust  in  you ;  you  give  them  what  they 
need  without  being  asked,  for  he  who  sees  the  need  and 
awaits  the  request,  is  almost  prepared  to  deny  it.  You 
will  be  rewarded  in  this  life  and  in  the  next.  The  blessing 
of  the  Lord  will  rest  upon  you.  He  will  exalt  you  above 
your  rivals,  glorify  you  above  your  enemies,  and  your  name 
will  be  preserved  in  your  posterity,  as  the  fragrance  of 
myrrh,  after  the  fire  has  consumed  its  substance." 

The  knights  and  ladies  were  astonished  at  hearing  the 
pilgrim  speak  so  wisely,  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  re- 
markable man.  Count  Raymond,  well  pleased,  replied 
with  kindness :  "  We  give  you  infinite  thanks,  good 
palmer,  for  the  faith  you  have  placed  in  our  courtesy, 
although  it  is  not  worth  remembering  ;  for  we  should 
greatly  wrong,  we  do  not  say  our  brothers  in  knighthood, 
but  our  poorest  vassals,  in  suspecting  that  they  would 
close  their  doors  against  the  poor  palmer." 

"  Not  the  act,  but  the  manner,  Monseigneur  Count, 
gains  the  heart ;  there  are  some  who  deny  in  so  kind  a 
manner,  that  you  love  them  more  than  those  who  give 
churlishly." 

Then  Count  Raymond  took  the  palmer  by  the  hand, 


The  Palmer.  105 

and  led  him  to  the  most  retired  apartments,  and  caused 
refreshments  to  be  placed  before  him.  Observing  his 
fatigue,  he  would  not  engage  him  longer  in  conversation, 
but  ordered  a  fresh  room  to  be  prepared,  and  left  him  to 
repose,  while  he  returned  to  the  feast. 

The  next  morning,  the  count,  rising  very  early,  retired 
to  the  garden,  not  so  much  to  meditate  with  an  undis- 
turbed mind  upon  the  affairs  of  the  state,  then  threatened 
with  war  by  the  Count  de  Toulouse,  as  to  collect  some 
images  of  the  dawn  to  embellish  some  verses  which  he 
intended  to  send  to  the  lady  of  his  thoughts.  Sauntering 
along,  wrapped  in  his  own  meditations,  he  met  the  palmer, 
who,  also  rising  early,  had  come  there  to  greet  the  lord 
with  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun.  He,  after  paying  due 
homage,  asked  the  count  why  he  seemed  so  troubled. 
Raymond,  although  by  nature  very  cautious,  at  once 
placed  so  much  faith  in  the  pilgrim,  that,  without  hesita- 
tion, he  confided  his  thoughts  to  him  ;  and  the  palmer 
aided  him  with  such  sage  advice,  that  it  seemed  to  Ray- 
mond, that  rather  than  wish  to  avoid  the  war  with  the 
Count  de  Toulouse,  he  ought  to  desire  it,  since  he  had  so 
expert  and  able  a  counsellor.  He  told  him,  nevertheless, 
that  he  would  not  force  him  to  remain,  but  that  he  should 
go  or  stay  at  his  own  pleasure  ;  yet,  if  his  desire  had  any 
weight,  he  entreated  him  to  stay.  If  Raymond  was 
charmed  with  the  character  of  the  palmer,  the  latter  was 
no  less  so  with  Raymond,  hence  they  agreed  perfectly ; 
nor  was  it  long  before  the  palmer  became  his  guide  and 
leader  in  everything.  He  always  wore  his  religious  dress, 
and  so  judicious  was  he  in  his  management,  that  the 
count,  though  still  retaining  the  same  magnificent  court, 
increased  his  treasury  more  than  two-thirds,  and  when  the 
war  actually  broke  out  with  the  Count  de  Toulouse  (who 
was  the  greatest  prince  in  the  world,  having  fourteen 
counts  under  him),  upon  the  question  of  their  boundaries, 
so  many  knights  and  barons,  either  from  courtesy  to  Ray- 
mond, or  on  account  of  his  wealth,  or  through  the  palm- 
er's influence,  fought  under  the  banners  of  Provence,  that 
the  Count  de  Toulouse  was  worsted. 

Now  it  happened  that  Count  Raymond  had  four  mar- 
5* 


106  The  Palmer. 

riageable*  daughters,  and  like  all  fathers,  wished  to  marry 
them  to  great  and  powerful  lords,  or  make  them  queens 
and  empresses  if  possible  ;  but  he  was  at  a  loss  how  to 
accomplish  it,  for  his  wealth  was  insufficient  to  give  them 
all  the  dowries  of  queens.  The  palmer  advised  him  to 
give  himself  no  concern,  as  he  would  provide  for  them. 
In  the  first  place,  he  married  the  eldest  to  Louis  IX.  of 
France,  with  a  very  large  dowry.  Being  reproved  by  the 
count,  he  replied  :  "  Leave  it  to  me,  monseigneur,  for 
the  eldest  being  married  with  great  cost,  you  will  marry 
the  others  with  less,  on  account  of  the  relationship."  And 
it  all  happened  as  he  had  predicted,  for  Edward  III.  of 
England,  in  order  to  be  brother-in-law  to  the  King  of 
France,  married  the  second  with  a  small  dowry ;  and 
soon  after,  Richard  of  Cornwall,  his  brother,  chosen  king 
of  the  Romans,  married  the  third.  The  fourth  remained 
at  home,  and  the  palmer  said  to  Raymond:  "We  will 
give  her  to  some  brave  man,  who  may  hold  the  place  of 
son  and  successor  to  you."  The  count  consenting,  he 
married  her  to  Charles  d'Anjou,  brother  of  King  Louis  of 
France,  who,  he  assured  Raymond,  would  become  one  of 
the  best  and  most  powerful  lords  in  the  world. 

After  so  many  years  of  loyalty  and  service,  malicious 
envy,  the  curse  of  the  world,  and  the  vice  of  courts,  began 
to  whisper  in  Raymond's  ear  that  the  palmer  had  betrayed 
him,  and  robbed  him  of  his  riches.  At  first  he  gave  no 
heed  to  the  scandal,  but  hearing  it  daily  repeated,  he 
determined  to  demand  from  the  palmer  an  account  of  his 
transactions.  He,  already  prepared  for  it,  showed  his 
documents,  gave  a  reason  for  everything,  and  asked  his 
dismissal.  The  count,  conscious  that  he  had  acted 
unworthily,  with  humble  excuses  defended  himself,  and 
urgently  begged  him  not  to  leave  him,  now  that  they  had 
passed  so  great  a  part  of  their  lives  together  ;  but  the  pal- 
mer checked  all  remonstrance  by  saying  :  "  No,  Mon- 
seigneur Raymond,  let  us  part  now  while  we  are  friends ; 
our  separation  will  be  very  bitter,  but  each  will  leave  to 
the  other  a  remembrance  that  he  will  with  pleasure  re- 
call to  his  mind.  If  I  remain,  we  may  not  be  able  to  do 
so.  You  are  old,  and  with  old  age  comes  infirmity  of 


The  Palmer.  107 

body  and  suspicion  of  iTiind.  This  may  be  a  vice  of  age  j 
it  may  be  the  result  of  experience,  which  proves  that  men 
are  more  ready  to  deceive  than  to  be  loyal :  at  any  rate, 
suspicion  is  the  companion  of  old  age,  and  would  to 
Heaven  it  were  the  only  one  !  This  sudden  questioning 
of  my  conduct,  although  you  might  have  remembered 
that  from  a  humble  condition  I  have  raised  you  to  great 
power,  assures  me  that  your  age  is  not  exempt  from  its 
common-  mistrust,  either  arising  spontaneously  *in»  your 
mind,  or  the  work  of  others.  Now,  thank  God,  I  have 
been  able  to  satisfy  your  demands  ;  another  time,  I  might 
not  be  able  to  do  so,  for,  as  proofs  sometimes  fail  to  con- 
vict one  of  crime,  so  they  may  also  fail  to  show  one's 
innocence  :  and  then  you  would  punish  me,  and  commit 
an  act  which  would  irreparably  stain  your  hitherto  untar- 
nished honor.  Let  us  then  provide,  while  there  is  time,  for 
my  safety,  and  for  your  good  name  ;  forasmuch  as  death 
would  separate  us  by  force,  let  us  part  voluntarily. 
Adieu  !  It  is  a  word  full  of  sorrow,  but  it  must  needs  be 
said.  May  your  remaining  years  be  peaceful  and  glorious ; 
may  those  who  have  removed  me  from  you,  serve  you  as 
loyally  as  I.  Poor  I  entered  this  court,  poor  will  I  leave 
it.  The  wallet  and  staff,  which  I  have  preserved,  as  a 
precious  gift  of  misery,  with  which  I  look  upon  myself  as 
rich,  and  above  riches,  shall  be  my  dress.  My  legs, 
although  weak,  my  palfrey  : — adieu.  Whatever  I  may 
have  merited  as  a  reward  of  my  labors,  either  keep,  or 
give  to  the  poor  in  Christ.  Adieu,  my  dear  lord,  adieu  ! 
We  shall  meet  in  heaven." 

Although  the  count  besought  him  with  prayers  and 
tears,  he  could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  remain.  The 
palmer  departed  in  his  humble  dress,  bearing  with  him  the 
love  and  good  wishes  of  all.  Raymond,  with  his  vassals, 
followed  him,  uttering  sad  laments ;  reaching  the  gate  of 
the  city,  the  palmer  embraced  the  count,  kissed  him,  and 
once  more  taking  leave,  recommended  him  to  the  care  of 
God.  Of  the  rest,  he  could  not  take  the  same  leave ; 
therefore,  raising  his  hands,  he  blessed  them  ;  and  they, 
kneeling,  sighing,  weeping  and  sobbing,  as  if  each  one 


io8  The  Palmer. 

had  lost  father  or  mother,  received  his  benediction.  As 
the  palmer  came,  so  he  departed,  nor  was  it  ever  known 
whence  he  came  or  whither  he  went,  but  the  greater 
number  of  those  who  saw  and  spoke  to  him,  believed  him 
to  be  a  saint. 

Count  Raymond  did  not  long  survive  the  departure  of 
the  palmer,  and  by  his  death  Provence  fell  under  the 
dominion  of  his  son-in-law,  Charles. 

Charles^  the  son  of  Louis  VIII.,  and  Bianca  of  Castile, 
as  son  of  France,  possessed  the  county  of  Anjou,  and  the 
seignory  of  Folcacchieri ;  as  husband  of  Beatrice,  Prov- 
ence, Languedoc,  and  part  of  Piedmont.  What  he  was 
in  person  and  manners  we  find  gracefully  narrated  in  a 
history  of  that  century,*  which  we  have  taken  as  a  guide 
for  this  chapter  :  wise,  magnanimous,  of  lofty  intellect, 
stern,  firm  in  adversity,  faithful  to  his  word,  speaking  little, 
working  much;  smiling  seldom,  and  slightly;  liberal  of 
his  own  wealth,  and  desirous  of  that  of  others  ;  he  valued 
little  troubadours,  minstrels,  jugglers,  and  buffoons  ;  he 
slept  little,  and  was  accustomed  to  say  that  the  less  he 
slept  the  longer  he  lived ;  his  glance  was  fierce  ;  he 
was  tall,  muscular,  and  of  an  olive  complexion  :  au  reste, 
religious,  and,  as  far  as  a  soldier  can  be,  honest. 

Persuaded  by  St.  Louis  of  France  to  join  the  crusade 
against  Jerusalem,  in  1250,  he,  together  with  his  brother, 
and  the  first  barony  of  France,  fell  into  the  power  of  the 
infidels  near  Damietta.  Liberated  from  prison,  he  re- 
turned to  Provence,  where  he  was  compelled  to  sustain 
many  conflicts  with  his  vassals,  whose  rights  he  wished 
to  annul,  and  over  whom  he  wished  to  make  himself  ab- 
solute master. 

About  this  time  he  received  news  of  his  election  by 
Urban  IV.  to  the  kingdom  of  Sicily,  brought  to  him  by 
Cardinal  Simon  de  Tours.  After  holding  a  consultation 
with  the  King  of  France,  the  Count  d'Artois  and  the 
Count  d'Alen9on,  his  brothers,  who,  in  order  to  get  rid 
of  this  ambitious  man,  encouraged  him  to  the  enterprise, 
and  offered  to  assist  him  with  arms  and  money,  he  agreed 

*  Giovanni  Villani.     L.  6,  c.  91. 


The  Palmer.  109 

to  prepare  himself  for  the  enterprise  in  honor  of  God 
and  of  the.  Holy  Roman  Church. 

If  natural  avarice  stimulated  him  to  this  undertaking, 
no  less  did  the  urgent  entreaties  of  his  wife  Beatrice, ' 
who,  to  add  to  the  treasury,  sold  all  her  jewels — the 
greatest  sacrifice  that  any  woman  in  the  world  can  make. 
The  reason  of  this  zeal  on  the  part  of  Beatrice,  as  the 
chronicles  of  the  time  relate,  was  that  shortly  before, 
she  had  met  her  sisters  at  Paris  to  celebrate  in  the  court 
of  her  brother-in-law  the  festival  of  Christmas.  She 
was  present  with  them  on  the  day  of  the  Epiphany,  at 
the  Feast  of  Kings,  which  the  monarchs  of  France  were 
accustomed  to  solemnize  in  the  Church  of  Saint  Denis. 
There,  because  she  was  not  entitled  to  wear  a  royal 
crown,  they  had  caused  her  seat  to  be  placed  one  step 
lower  than  theirs.  Many  were  the  arts  adopted  by  this 
ambitious  woman,  and  perhaps  not  all  to  be  narrated,  to 
draw  over  to  her  side  the  flower  of  French  chivalry. 

There  were  in  those  days  two  powerful  incentives  to 
undertake  the  war :  the  courtesy  of  knights  in  not  refus- 
ing any  enterprise  asked  by  their  lady-loves,  and  the 
spirit  of  religion.  Both  of  these  were  put  into  requisi- 
tion, the  »fi rst  by  Beatrice,  the  second  by  the  legates  of 
the  Pope,  who  preached  throughout  France  the  crusade 
against  Manfred,  promising  the  remission  of  sins  and  the 
same  indulgences  that  rewarded  the  Crusaders  in  Pales- 
tine. But  for  those  who  valued  lightly  woman's  flatteries 
and  the  indulgences  of  the  church  (and  this  latter  class, 
the  chronicles  say,  was  by  far- the  more  numerous),  the 
desire  of  great  pay  was  enough  to  enlist  them  under  the 
standard  of  Charles.  Add  to  all  these  things  the  natural 
eagerness  of  the  French  for  adventures,  and  the  reader 
need  not  be  astonished  to  learn  that  his  army  amounted 
to  sixty  thousand  men,  including  cavaliers,  archers,  and 
infantry  of  all  kinds. 

The  death  of  Urban  IV.  and  the  election  of  Clement 
IV.  to  the  Pontificate,  far  from  interrupting,  rather  has- 
tened the  event,  for  Clement  was  a  vassal  of  Charles, 
and  a  most  zealous  supporter  of  his  rights.  He  had,  in 
early  life,  a  wife  and  children,  and  was  considered  a 


1 10  The  Palmer. 

v 

most  able  lawyer.  His  wife  dying,  he  became  a  priest, 
and  rose  successively  to  the  dignities  of  Bishop  of  Pois, 
Cardinal  of  Narbonne,  Legate  to  England,  and  finally 
Pope.  Bartolommeo  Pignattello,  Archbishop  of  Cosenza, 
vassal  and  enemy  of  Manfred,  sent  in  great  haste  to  Pro- 
vence, and,  uniting  with  Simon,  Cardinal  of  St.  Cecilia, 
excited  Charles  to  set  sail  for  Italy. 

Manfred  was  not  disheartened  at  the  news  of  so  many 
armaments,  but,  like  a  brave  and  high-spirited  man, 
made  all  the  necessary  arrangements  to  receive  his 
enemy.  He  took  particular  care  to  guard  the  boun- 
diiries  of  his  dominions,  fortifying  Cepperano,  San  Ger- 
mano,  and  placing  a  chosen  guard  in  Benevento.  By  sea 
he  was  protected  by  his  galleys,  which  having  been 
joined  by  those  of  the  Genoese  and  the  Pisans,  amount- 
ed in  all  to  more  than  eighty.  All  the  forces  of  the  King 
of  France,  not  to  mention  those  of  a  count,  appeared  in- 
sufficient to  injure  him  ;  but  nevertheless,  so  little  are 
human  plans  to  be  depended  upon,  that  both  by  sea  and 
land  he  was  beaten  with  wonderful  facility,  as  we  shall 
narrate  in  the  course  of  this  history. 

Now  Charles,  considering  of  how  great  moment  his 
presence  in  Italy  would  be,  and  thinking  thai?  another 
opportunity  might  not  present  itself,  determined,  although 
many  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  it,  to  set  sail  immedi- 
ately, and  go  directly  to  Rome.  He  was  well  aware  that 
Manfred  had  guarded  all  the  Roman  shore,  nor  was  he 
ignorant  that  his  own  fleet  was  hardly  one  quarter  as 
large  as  that  of  his  enenly ;  nevertheless,  he  appointed 
Guy  de  Montfort  generalissimo  of  the  land  forces,  and 
commending  the  Countess  Beatrice  to  his  protection, 
and  confiding  in  the  motto,  which  he  was  accustomed 
often  to  repeat,  "  Good  care  conquers  evil  fortune," 
he  leaped  aboard  ship,  and  commanded  the  prow  to  be 
turned  towards  desired  Italy. 


The  Naval  Battle.  in 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    NAVAL    BATTLE. 

He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknelPd,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

BYRON,  C '/tilde  Harold,  Canto  IV. 

OME,  let  us  admire  the  glories  of  creation  upon 
the  last  shores  of  the  ocean.  Behold,  it  rests 
with  the  quietude  of  the  lion  ;  no  wind  dares  to 
wrinkle  its  azure  surface,  no  wave  to  groan 
among  its  breakers.  It  seems  a  mirror  in  which  the 
firmament  loves  to  reflect  its  treasures.  The  eye  of  man 
watches  far  and  far  in  search  of  a  boundary  which  the 
weakness  of  its  construction  hath  impressed  upon  his 
sight,  but  which  the  ocean  has  never  known.  Our  look 
is  lost  over  the  multitude  of  the  waters,  and  is  finally 
forced  to  lower  itself  to  the  ground,  whilst  our  mind 
grieves  at  the  thought  that  human  nature  is  incapable  of 
sustaining  long  the  contemplation  of  the  elements  ; — like 
unto  the  presumptuous  mind  that  dares  to  attempt  pene- 
trating within  the  clouds  which  surround  the  throne  of 
the  Omnipotent,  after  long  wandering  from  abyss  into 
abyss  of  the  intellectual  world,  is  overcome  by  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  imagination,  worn  out  by  meditation,  con- 
vinced by  the  certainty  that  the  Eternal  cannot  be 
comprehended  by  the  creature  destined  to  die.  Thus 
like  is  the  calm  of  the  ocean  ;  and  yet  the  planet  of  life 
and  light  seems  to  approach  it  trembling,  as  the  suppliant 
to  the  throne  of  his  Lord  ;  most  of  the  time  pale  and 
without  ray ;  and  the  ocean  absorbs  it  in  its  bosom,  as  the 
earth  the  dead. 

But  when  this  mass  of  water,  furiously  rSging,  as  if 
anxious  to  regain  its  ancient  dominion  (since  the  earth 
emerged  from  the  depths  of  the  sea  at  God's  command),* 

*  GENESIS,  c.  I. 


112  The  Naval  Battle. 

breaks  against  the  shore,  where  it  finds  the  insuperable 
barrier,  and  the  only  one  worthy  of  subduing  its  frightful 
power, — the  Creator's  word  which  repulses  it  back, — 
when,  rolling  in  the  might  of  its  immensity,  it  overturns  the 
bark  that  it  meets  in  its  fatal  course,  whence  the  mariner, 
despairing  of  every  human  help,  looks  to  heaven,  but 
heaven  shows  itself  to  him  threatening, — there  is  no  es- 
cape ;  the  billows  which  he  sees  mounting  from  afar  will 
execute  the  sentence  of  death  that  nature  has  pro- 
nounced against  him.  Then,  among  the  thoughts  of  the 
future  life,  there  is  mingled  sadly  the  recollection  of  his 
dear  family,  which  tears  his  heart : — and  his  children  ?— 
and  his  wife  ?— does  she  sleep?  Above  the  howling  of 
the  wind,  above  the  roaring  of  the  sea,  she  seems  to  hear 
her  name  sighed  in  the  delirium  of  a  horrible  agony  ;  she 
starts  terrified,  runs  to  the  shore,  but  discerns  naught  but 
foaming  waves  and  darkened  sky.  May  God  rest  in 
peace  the  soul  of  the  shipwrecked  !  But  ought  he  to  have 
challenged  the  terrible  element  with  the  weight  of  his 
children  on  his  heart  ?  When  all  is  destruction,  when  all 
is  fear  and  terror,  happy  that  brave  man  who  can  joyfully 
roam  upon  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and  smile,  with  the  same 
smile  with  which  one  greets  his  dearest  friends,  at  the 
waves,  that,  after  having  submerged  thousands  of  ships, 
come  to  break  against  the  rocks  of  the  shore  !  Happy 
he  who  can  listen  to  the  roaring  of  the  thunder,  to  the 
wild  howls  of  the  sea-monsters  as  to  a  sweet  harmony,  a 
voice  of  love,  like  the  one  that  used  to  lull  him  to  sleep 
in  infancy  ! — but  happier  by  far  he  who,  in  the  hour  of 
storm,  could  entrust  his  body  to  the  angry  waves  !  The 
bystanders  begged  him  for  the  madonna  and  the  saints  not 
to  attempt  it ;  but  he,  despising  the  advices  of  fear,  de- 
lighted to  see  himself  elevated  above  the  abyss,  the  de- 
scription of  which  would  make  every  one  shudder.  In- 
deed, he  seemed  like  an  atom  wandering  through  space ; 
he  knew  tlfe  danger,  he  looked  death  in  the  face,  nor 
did  he  tremble  ;  and  in  recompense  his  soul  was  purified 
of  many  earthly  passions,  of  many  human  weaknesses. 
He  learned  that  he  alone  can  call  himself  happy  who 
does  not  fear  death  ;  and,  superior  to  all  worldly  miseries, 


The  Naval  Battle.  113 

he  discovered  things  which  he  is  neither  able"  to  tell  nor 
others  to  understand,  but  the  remembrance  of  which  re- 
mains in  his  mind  as  a  pledge  of  future  greatness.  Now 
this  brave  one,  elevated  on  the  summit  of  a  wave,  soars 
himself  higher  than  the  earth,  discerning  the  distant  shores 
and  his  companions  ;  now  lowered  to  the  very  depth,  he 
admires  the  overwhelming  waters  surround  him  like  a 
wall,  and  their  tops  foaming  and  hissing  like  snakes  upon 
the  head  of  Medusa  ;  but  yet  he  overcame  them,  and 
when  it  pleased  him  returned  safe  to  the  shore.  He  alone 
has  the  right  of  speaking  of  the  ocean  :  let  him  lay  his 
hand  upon  its  mane  as  upon  the  altar  of  God,  and  s  y, 
"  I  am  worthy  of  thee."  Come,  let  us  adore  the  glories 
of  creation  upon  the  last  shores  of  the  ocean. 

I  love  thee,  O  ocean  !  with  the  same  love  with  which  my 
brothers  of  folly  admire  the  face  of  woman  ;  I  rejoice  at 
the  sound  of  thy  breakers,  at  thy  rest,  and  thy  tempests  ; 
free  from  the  beginning  of  creation,  no  tyrant  has  been 
able  to  impose  laws  on  thee ;  no  ambitions,  either  by 
flattery  or  force,  control  thee ;  the  changes  of  years  and 
seasons  are  nothing  for  thee  :  that  barbarian  kins;  who 

.  .  .  ^* 

wished  to  impose  chains  on  thee  stands  as  a  monument  of 
mockery  in  history.  Chains  were  made  only  for  men. 

Thou  immense,  thou  powerful.  O  ocean  !  since  chaos 
was  water,  and  will  return  into  water.  In  that  last  mo- 
ment light  will  be  again  extinguished  in  its  ancient  ele- 
ment. Fire,  thy  enemy,  will  be  conquered,  and  thy  vic- 
tory announced  to  the  world  with  its  own  destruction  : 
no  more  stars,  neither  moon,  nor  heaven,  nor  earth. 
Thou  wilt  exult  in  thy  triumph,  in  the  solitude  of  thy 
mightiness  ;  yet,  whilst  there  remains  in  me  a  spark  of 
life,  I  will  stroll  upon  thy  last  shores,  and  adore  the  glories 
of  creation  in  the  power  of  the  ocean. 


It  is  now  three  days  since  Charles  d'Anjou  sailed  over 
the  ocean  with  the  eagerness  of  a  heart  panting  for  a 
crown.  Often  sitting  at  dinner,  or  playing  at  chess,  when 
least  they  expect  it,  he  starts  from  the  table,  ascends  on 
deck,  gazes  intently  towards  the  South,  and  exclaims  with 
a  voice  both  nervous  and  joyous  :  "  Is  that  Italy  ?  " 


114  The  Naval  Battle. 

"  No,  monseigneur,  it  is  a  cloud,"  the  pilot  answers  ; 
and  Charles,  disappointed,  returns  again  whence  he  had 
come. 

Nowadays,  a  man,  no  matter  how  ignorant,  easily  un- 
derstands that  the  robber  has  either  no  feeling  at  all,  when 
he  is  about  appropriating  another's  property,  or  if  he  has 
any,  it  must  be  very  similar  to  that  of  a  conqueror.  It 
is  true  that  the  latter  strives  to  adorn  it  with  the  lofty 
fancies  of  glory  ;  but  flattery,  which  magnifies  the  crime 
of  the  strong, — a  crime  which  is  punished  in  the  weak, — 
the  difference  of  name, — calling  the  latter  a  deed,  an 
enterprise,  a  conquest,  what  in  the  former  would  be  called 
a  theft, — does  not  appease  conscience  ;  for  what  is  taken 
from  others,  be  it  much  or  little,  be  it  with  thousands  of 
armed  men  or  with  one  hand  alone,  either  must  be  con- 
sidered a  crime  for  all,  or  for  none.  Punishment  is  very 
much' like  a  sign-board,  which  the  more  flaringly  it  is 
painted,  the  less  the  inn  is  comfortable,  and  the  wine 
good ;  it  may  surely  be  set  down  as  a  mark  to  pass  off 
bad  merchandise  for  good,  and  which  for  centuries  has 
deceived  the  world,  and  will  continue  still.  If  we  medi- 
tate well  on  the  history  of  the  world,  we  will  find  that  the 
origin  of  punishment  has  been  more  a  matter  of  force 
than  of  reason.  I  have  written  these  thoughts  not  be- 
cause Charles  had  the  slightest  remorse  for  the  great  theft 
which  he  was  about  to  commit,  but  because  they  hap- 
pened to  come  to  my  mind  just  now.  What  now  agitated 
the  mind  of  Charles  was  the  idea  of  the  great  danger, 
together  with  a  certain  magnanimous  feeling,  which  made 
him  desirous  of  perilous  deeds.  Such  mixture  of  old 
habits  and  new  sensations  is  not  easy  to  describe ;  it  was 
not  a  desire  of  flight,  and  yet  a  beginning  of  fear,  which 
made  him  nervous ;  not  even  a  desire  to  hurry  on  the 
enterprise  ;  and  yet  Charles,  whenever  they  replied  that 
it  was  not  land,  but  a  cloud,  the  object  which  he  thought 
was  Italy,  sighed  disappointedly. 

Charles  acted  restlessly,  nor  could  the  barons  whom 
he  had  chosen  for  companions  in  any  way  soothe  him. 
They  had  fought  at  his  side,  both  in  Palestine  and  Pro- 
vence ;  they  were  famous  in  arms,  but  rigid  as  the  armor 


The  Naval  Battle.  115 

that  covered  them  ; — faces  that  never  smiled  ;  ignorant  of 
everything,  except  their  sword  and.  iron  mace — for  in  that 
consisted  all  the  education  of  the  noblemen  of  those 
days.  They  might  have  narrated  past  adventures,  and 
with  the  recital  of  perils  escaped,  encourage  each  other 
to  withstand  bravely  the  approaching  ones  ;  but  when  the 
mind  waits  anxiously  on  the  hilt  of  the  sword,  there  is 
hardly  one  who  can  relate,  nor  others  who  can  listen  to 
stories  of  old  times.  Our  barons,  at  the  slightest  noise, 
would  start  with  arms  in  their  hands,  fearful  of  being 
attacked  ;  nor  because  they  had  been  often  deceived, 
did  they  relax  their  suspicious  anxiety. 

The  captain  of  the  galley  was  a  Provencal,  with  red 
face,  and  red,  curly  hair,  a  merry  fellow,  a  good  judge  of 
wine,  and  a  special  admirer  of  champagne  ;  otherwise, 
his  learning  amounted  only  to  being  able  to  sing  half  a 
dozen  tavern  songs,  and  to  swear  by  every  oath  that  ran 
through  the  mouths  of  all  the  seafaring  men  of  those  days  ; 
but  since,  whenever  the  stern  countenance  of  Charles 
appeared,  the  gay  song  would  suddenly  cease,  and  more 
so  the  oaths,  because  the  count  was  very  religious,  or 
pretended  to  be,  all  the  wit  of  the  poor  commander  was 
reduced  to  naught,  and  he  stood  on  deck  as  a  dead  man. 
He  might  have  talked  of  wine,  but  how  could  he  have 
had  the  courage  to  approach  the  subject  with  a  prince 
who  only  drank  water  ?  The  poor  captain  was  in 
despair. 

A  profound  silence,  therefore,  interrupted  only  by  the 
splashing  of  the  oars,  or  by  the  wind  flapping  on  the 
sails,  reigned  throughout  the  galley.  On  the  fourth  day 
of  navigation,  towards  evening,  Charles,  noticing  by  the 
motion  that  the  galley  was  transported  more  violently 
over  the  waves  than  for  the  three  previous  days,  left  the 
cabin  to  have  a  look  on  deck.  It  was  awfully  dark  : — 
not  a  ray  of  moon  illumined  the  clouds,  nor  was  there  a 
star  visible  ; — it  seemed  as  if  the  firmament  was  dead,  and 
the  moaning  of  the  sea  bewailed  its  loss.  Charles'  galley 
rides  over  the  waves  through  a  fearful  darkness, — as 
an  atom  through  space.  The  whole  crew  seem  terror- 
struck  : — Charles  trepidates  as  the  meanest  of  them,  for 


ii6  The  Naval  Battle. 

life  is  equally  dear  to  him  who  handles  a  sceptre  as  to 
him  who  palls  an  oar, — and  perhaps  there  is  hardly  any 
difference  between  the'two,  except  that  of  the  instrument 
which  they  hold  in  their  hands, — at  least  in  the  love  of 
self-preservation.  Some  cried,  some  were  silent,  some 
prayed,  others  groaned.  The  pilot,  seeing  the  master 
drunk  with  wine  and  fear,  was  crying  from  abaft :  "  Pull 
harder  with  your  oars ;  furl  the  main  sail  if  you  wish  to 
be  saved  ;  hurry  up  while  you  -have  time,  otherwise  we 
are  lost, — there  is  land  on  our  lee  ! " 

Only  the  last  words  were  heard  of  these  orders  :  "  We 
are  lost ;  there  is  land  on  our  lee  ;  "  and  had  consequently 
the  contrary  effect  desired. 

"  We  are  lost  /  "  murmured  the  crew  to  each  other,  and 
all  sunk  down  with  fear  and  trepidation. 

The  pilot,  fearing  that,  if  continuing  thus,  they  would 
be  inevitably  lost,  gave  the  helm  in  charge  to  a  seaman 
whom  he  could  trust,  and  rushed  to  where  Charles  was, 
leaning  on  the  bulwarks.  "Courage!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Monseigneur,  come  to  cheer  your  crew,  otherwise  I  see 
no  way  of  safety." 

Charles  started  at  these  words,  and  taking  the  pilot's 
arm,  advanced  to  where  the  rowers  were  ;  who,  despair- 
ing of  safety,  were  lying  idly  on  their  benches,  waiting, 
terrified,  for  imminent  shipwreck. 

"  Friends,"  cried  Charles  to  the  galley  slaves,  "  I  can- 
not understand  how  so  much  fear  could  have  taken  hold 
of  people  used  to  a  sea  life.  Are  you  women,  that  you 
so  easily  give  up  in  despair,  as  if  the  end  of  the  world 
had  come  ?  For  shame  !  We  have  escaped  far  greater 
perils,  and  with  the  aid  of  God  first,  and  St.  Denis,  we 
will  overcome  this.  Don't  you  see  that  your  own  apathy 
will  lose  the  ship,  and  thus  you  will  inevitably  run  against 
death  ?  Think  that  you  will  have  to  answer  to  God  for 
thus  having  thrown  away  your  life.  Protect  it  then,  for 
I,  from  this  moment,  affranchise  you ;  therefore,  cheer 
up  and  do  your  best  for  the  preservation  of  your  life,  and 
the  liberty  which  I  have  granted  to  you." 

"  Friends  !  "  Charles,  that  proud  man,  who  boasted  of  a 
thousand  royal  ancestors,  has  called  with  the  name  of 


The  Naval  Battle.  117 

friends  a  vile  crew  composed  mostly  of  men  bought  as 
beasts  in  the  market,  or  of  convicts  condemned  to  serve 
the  state  for  crimes  committed  against  private  individuals  ! 
Yet  Charles  has  said  so.  Oh  !  I  wonder  whether  the 
proud  conqueror  has  ever  fallen  so  low  as  when  neces- 
sity compels  him  to  be  on  a  level,  and  without  distinction, 
with  the  other  race  of  Adam.  Liberty  !  Great  heavens  ! 
Liberty  !  on  the  lips  of  Charles  d'Anjou,  who  is  carrying 
chains  to  a  whole  kingdom  ! 

"  Liberty  /'  Liberty  !  "  was  heard  exclaimed  throughout 
the  galley  with  such  a  tumult  that  it  prevailed  over  the 
noise  of  the  agitated  waves.  "  Liberty  ! "  and  they  all 
bent  on  their  oars  to  get  away  from  the  dangerous  coast. 
The  galley,  cutting  through  the  billows,  succeeded  in  es- 
caping the  rocks,  but  she  was  running  the  risk  of  en- 
countering some  of  the  galleys  which  King  Manfred 
kept  watching  on  the  coast.  That  danger,  however,  was 
uncertain,  for  they  also  must  be  tossed  about  by  the 
storm,  while  the  present  was  inevitable  ;  therefore,  better 
avoid  this  for  the  moment ;  for  the  other  they  will  pro- 
vide when  necessary.  Thus  thought  Charles,  and  accord- 
ing to  all  human  calculations  he  was  right.  The  chain  of 
events,  however,  which  we  cannot  foresee  nor  prevent, 
and  which  we  call  fortune,  smiled  over  all  those  reason- 
ings, and  disposed  totally  different  from  what  monseig- 
neur  the  count  had  devised. 

All  at  once  the  wind,  as  if  worn  out  by  the  long  ef- 
fort, ceased  of  a  sudden  ;  then  began  thunder  and  light- 
ning, then  a  pouring  of  hail  and  rain.  In  that  night 
Charles  had  to  experience  all  the  sufferings  of  men 
who  spend  their  lives  at  sea.  An  hour  had  already 
passed  since  they  wandered  thus,  without  knowing  where, 
flying  over  the  waves,  when,  of  a  sudden,  the  galley 
struck  against  a  solid  body,  and  her  timbers  shivered  so 
that  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  go  to  pieces.  A  cry  was 
raised — the  cry  of  despair  !  for  they  feared  to  have  struck 
against  a  rock,  but  when  their  cry  ceased,  they  heard 
another  not  less  terrible  near  by.  "  Is  it  one  of  01*  gal- 
leys that  has  collided  with  us  ?  "  said  part  of  the  sailors  ; 
and  others,  "  No,  it  is  a  Genoese  galleon  ;  we  have  recog- 


ii8  The  Naval  Battle. 

nized  it  by  its  shape  ; "  and  others,  "  no,  it  is  Sicilian  ; " 
others  other  things ;  but  all  agreed  that  it  belonged  to 
the  enemy. 

"  The  enemy  !  the  enemy  !  "  they  cried  from  both  the 
galleys  ;  and  if  the  crews  had  been  allowed  to  express 
their  own  desires,  they  would  have  let  each  other  alone 
for  that  night. 

But  Charles  d'Anjou,  who  was  really  a  brave  warrior, 
was  not  moved  at  those  cries,  and  as  he  could  not  avoid 
the  battle,  he  magnanimously  strove  to  come  victoriously 
out  of  it. 

"  Noble  barons  !  "  said  he,  playfully,  to  the  surround- 
ing knights,  who  were  already,  with  arms  in  their  hands, 
at  his  side,  "  the  Church,  in  calling  us  to  Sicily,  has  not 
invited  us  to  a  wedding  feast ;  the  tables  are  ready,  and 
we  must  put  a  good  face  on  whatever  is  in  store  for  us. 
If  we  had  the  slightest  doubt  of  your  courage,  we  would 
endeavor  to  encourage  you  to  the  battle  by  speeches, 
as  it  has  been  the  custom  of  captains  in  all  ages ;  but 
we  have  fought  too  often  together,  and  too  often  have  we 
been  in  the  same  dangers,  to  suppose  that  a  word  of  ours 
could  add  strength  to  your  valor." 

Then  advancing  where  the  crew  stood  awestruck, 
"  My  men,"  he  said,  "  if  you  had  the  choice  of  running 
away,  I  would  advise  you  to  remain  ;  fear  of  death  will 
be  more  powerful  than  my  voice  ;  let  every  one  do  his 
best  to  save  his  life." 

I  will  not  say  that  this  strange  speech  infused  any  sud- 
den courage  in  those  wretched  beings,  but  spoken  by  a 
man  with  Charles'  reputation,  it  was  able  to  give  them 
some  lingering  hope  of  safety  if  they  imitated  him  in  his 
actions  ;  and  truly,  though  not  very  enthusiastically,  they 
followed  him  in  the  fight. 

"  Get  the  hooks  !  Get  the  hooks  ! "  was  heard  Charles' 
voice  calling  out  (these  were  long  poles  with  large  hooks 
on  one  end  to  grapple  an  enemy's  vessel,  and  keep  it 
fast  to  one's  own,  in  order  to  come  to  a  hand-to-hand 
figh^.  They  were  immediately  brought,  and  put  to  use. 
These  however  were  not  sufficient  to  accomplish  the  ob- 
ject-, because  the  two  galleys,  tossed  by  the  waves, 


The  Naval  Battle.  119 

knocked  fearfully  against  each  other,  or  furiously  parting, 
tore  them  from  the  hands  of  those  who  held  them.  It 
happened  that  some  of  the  crew  unwilling  to  leave  hold  of 
them  were  lifted  out  from  the  deck,  and  suspended  to  the. 
poles,  so  that  when  the  galleys  came  to  knock  against  eacM 
other  again  either  they  were  miserably  crushed,  or.  unable 
to  sustain  themselves  long  hanging  from  them,  fell  into 
the  water  and  were  drowned.  Charles,  holding  his  iron 
mace,  with  a  foot  on  the  bulwark  of  the  galley,  watched 
anxiously  the  moment  that  it  approached  the  other,  and 
then  he  would  strike  blows  that  seldom  fell  in  vain.  His 
companions  followed  his  example  with  battle-axes,  and  in 
a  short  time  they  had  caused  the  enemy  severe  losses 
both  in  killed  and  wounded.  These  however  held  their 
own,  exchanging  blow  for  blow,  and  boldly  sustaining 
the  brunt  of  battle.  One  would  have  seen  the  rigging 
dripping  with  blood,  the  deck  with  scattered  brains  and 
severed  limbs  ;  dead  bodies  hanging  across  the  bulwarks, 
and  gradually  sliding  overboard ;  others  fallen  supine, 
entangling  the  legs  of  their  mates,  and  causing  them  to 
fall  headlong  into  the  sea  ;  some  badly  wounded  running 
abaft  uttering  piercing  cries,  while  the  rest,  unmoved  by 
the  slaughter,  pushed  their  way  through  the  dead  and 
wounded  to  be  among  the  first  to  kill  or  be  killed. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  storm  was  again  raging  in  the 
fulness  of  its  fury  over  their  heads ;  but  the  fury  of  the 
unbridled  elements  is  wonderfully  solemn,  and  truly  de- 
serving the  observer's  attention.  They  seem  like  giants 
who  cannot  be  destroyed,  and  who  have  met  in  the  fields 
of  the  heavens  not  to  challenge  each  other  to  death,  but 
to  show  their  might  ;  now  there  prevails  this,  now  that 
element,  until  weary  of  the  strife  they  retire  without  vic- 
tory to  return  whenever  it  suits  them  to  new  experiments. 
Not  so  with  the  fury  of  men  :~every  one  of  their  acts  is  a 
road  to  destruction  ;  small  and  fierce,  they  give  the  idea 
of  a  heap  of  maddened  ants,  intent  to  devour  each  other 
over  a  mound  of  earth  ;  death,  that  holds  a  foot  over  it, 
stops  to  wonder  how  in  those  little  bodies  burns  the  ftiry 
of  extinguishing  each  other  without  his  help.  Imbecile 
race,  even  in  the  acts  that  in  the  greater  part  of  them  are 


120  The  Naval  Battle. 

cause  of  tears,  it  deserves  a  smile  of  contempt  from  him 
who  enjoys  the  spectacle  of  a  tempest. 

That  battle  fought  thus  at  random  produced  no  good 
effect.  More  than  an  hour  they  had  exchanged  blows, 
many  fell  dead  on  both  sides,  but  no  one  seemed  disposed 
to  yield. 

The  pilot,  who  had  returned  to  the  helm,  a  man  of  im- 
pulsive character,  seeing  the  battle  flag,  and  desirous  of 
joining  in  the  melee,  left  the  helm  again  in  charge  of  an 
expert  seaman,  giving  him 'directions  how  to  govern  the 
ship,  and  rushed  below  deck  to  arm  himself. 

Meeting  the  captain  of  the  galley,  he  said  to  him  : 

"  What  are  you  doing  thus  armed  ?  " 

"  What  am  I  doing  ?  What  can  be  done  with  a  battle 
axe  in  one's  hand  when  they  are  fighting  on  deck  ?  I 
mean  to  vent  my  spleen  on  some  one  there,  for  I  am  mad 
as  fury ;  at  any  rate,  if  we  must  die  to-night,  I  prefer  to 
die  with  a  blow  on  my  head  rather  than  drown  in  the  water. 
I  never  expected  to  die  drowned  except  in  a  wine-tub." 

"  And  why  did  you  leave  the  helm  ?  " 

"  I  left  some  one  else  in  charge  ;  but  will  you  give  me 
your  battle-axe  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  ;  I  will  find  another.  But  tell  me  what 
you  mean  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"The  fight  has  been  long  and  obstinate,  victory  still 
hangs  uncertain.  Charles  so  heavily  armed  dares  not 
leap  upon  the  Sicilian  galley.  .  .  " 

"  Well  ..." 

"  I,  as  more  experienced  at  sea,  will  attempt  this  ;  often 
the  turn  of  events  depends  on  a  sudden  bold  step.  Men 
are  like  sheep  ;  when  one  goes  the  others  follow.  .  . " 

"Well.  .  ." 

"  When  I  shall  have  placed  my  foot  on  the  enemy's 
galley,  I  hope  with  the  help  of  God  to  hold  my  ground 
till  the  others  come  to  the  rescue ;  otherwise  the  worst 
that  can  happen  is  to  get  killed." 

"  1  will  follow  you,  heavy  as  I  am  ;  come,  and  let  us 
show  Count  Charles  how  to  jump  on  the  enemy's  galley." 

They  rushed  upon  the  poop,  where  the  two  ships  were 
closed  together,  and  taking  a  proper  distance,  they 


The  Naval  Battle.  12 1 

leaped  together  over  the  sides.  But  as  destiny  willed, 
the  jolly  commander,  who  had  deliberated  to  fight  rather 
than  be  drowned,  whether  on  account  of  his  weight,  or  too 
much  wine,  in  placing  his  foot  on  the  enemy's  galley  hit 
fatally  with  his  heel  against  the  rail,  and  fell  headlong 
in  the  water.  He  cried  for  help,  but  in  the  tumult  of  the 
battle  no  one  heard  or  heeded  him. 

The  pilot,  more  fortunate  than  his  companion,  jumped 
safely  upon  the  Sicilian  galley,  and  at  the  same  moment 
struck  a  blow  with. his  battle-axe  on  the  head  of  the  first 
man  who  came  threateningly  against  him,  and  cleft  it  in 
two.  The  wounded  man  uttered  a  cry,  and  was  about 
raising  his  'hands  to  the  wound,  but  death  loosened  his 
.  arms  before  he  could  accomplish  the  act,  and  he  fell  at 
the  feet  of  the  pilot.  He  leaped  over  him,  and  passed 
on,  but  being  surrounded  by  many,  and  he,  as  yet,  all 
alone,  had  no  other  chance  but  to  place  his  shoulders 
against  the  main-mast  of  the  ship,  and  whirling  furiously 
his  battle-axe  keep  every  one  at  bay. 

In  the  meanwhile  Charles,  who  from  the  moment  he 
had  seen  the  pilot  leap  with  such  successful  audacity  on 
the  enemy's  galley,  felt  stimulated  by  anger,  shame,  and  a 
noble  desire  to  come  to  his  aid  ;  considering  also  that  in 
the  way  they  had  fought  they  would  come  to  naught,  he 
called  aloud  Sir  Gilles,  and  ordered  him  to  summon  hastily 
Micheaux,  Labroderie,  and  all  others  that  he  could  collect 
together,  and  bring  them  near  him. 

Sir  Gilles  readily  obeyed.  Charles,  withdrawing  for  an 
instant,  took  off  his  iron  gauntlets  in  order  to  be-less  in- 
cumbered,  then  returned  to  his  post.  The  knights  that 
had  been  called  joined  him,  and  the  Count  of  Provence 
thus  briefly  addressed  them:  "Noble  barons,  our  pilot, 
setting  a  rare  example  of  daring  and  valor,  has  already 
leaped  on  the  enemy's  galley  ;  we  allowed  a  glorious 
deed  to  be  taken  away  from  us,  but  since  we  cannot  ob- 
tain the  first  glory,  let  us  at  least  gain  the  second  by 
promptly  giving  aid  to  our  brother  in  arms." 

After  this,  they  all  gathered  close  to  him  ;  and  when 
they  had  the  opportunity,  at  a  sign  from  Charles,  they  all 
leaped  over,  crying:  "  Monjoy  !   Monjoy  /"     By  a  lucky 
6 


122  The  Naval  Battle. 

chance  all  reached  safely  the  enemy's  ship.  That 
of  men  hurled  with  such  impetus  fell  so  irresistibly  against 
the  Sicilians  that  at  the  first  onslaught  they  staggered 
back ;  but  regaining  courage,  these  latter  repulsed  the 
French,  who  began  to  yield,  and  gradually  fell  back  so 
far,  that  another  step  would  have  pitched  them  over- 
board. Rarely  it  happens  that  man,  placed  between 
death  and  desperate  defence,  does  not  overcome  the  trial. 
The  French  regained,  though  with  hard  labor,  the  lost 
space.  The  pressure  was  such  that  they  could  not  use 
their  battle-axes  either  by  the  edge  or  by  the  point. 
It  was  a  pushing  and  pressing,  backwards  and  forwards, 
rather  than  a  regular  battle.  Charles,  being  a  daring  man, 
dropped  suddenly  his  battle-axe,  grappled  his  adversary 
by  the  throat,  and  pressed  it  so,  that  he  felled  him  stran- 
gled to  the  ground  :  some  of  the  strongest  of  his  com- 
panions had  the  same  thought,  and  succeeded  in  it,  for 
the  Sicilians  had  no  suspicion  of  such  a  mode  of  warfare. 
Others  who  had  poniards  used  them.  Then  the  enemy 
drew  back,  and,  being  for  the  most  part  wounded,  hesi- 
tated to  give  a  new  assault.  This  instant  of  hesitation 
decided  the  battle,  since  the  French  having  clear  space  to 
manage  their  battle-axes,  in  which  they  were  very  expert, 
obliged  them  shortly  to  sue  for  quarter,  which  by  order 
of  Charles  was  immediately  granted. 

Having  obtained  the  victory,  his  first  thought  was  to 
search  for  the  pilot,  whose  example  had  been  the  first  in- 
ducement to  board  the  galley.  They  found  him  under  a 
heap  of  dead  and  wounded,  but  fortunately  not  dead. 

Charles  lifting  him  up  asked  :   "  Are  you  wounded  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monseigneur,  in  many  places,  but  not  mortally, 
I  hope." 

"  Thank  God  and  St.  Martin  of  Tours  !  Do  you  wish 
to  be  carried  to  your. galley. ?".,  

"  I  desire  first  to  look  for  the  commander  ;  he  was  my 
companion  in  the  attempt  to  the  abordage,  but  I  have  not 
seen  him  since.  He  must  have  fallen  overboard." 

Charles  ordered  that  they  should  search  for  him  ;  then 
turning  to  the  Sicilians,  who  were  kneeling  before  him, 
he  said  to  them :  "  Arise !  you  have  done  all  that  is 


The  Naval  Battle.  123 

granted  to  living  men  to  do ;  you  deserve  not  this  humil- 
iation, and  God  forbid  that  we  should  have  the  intention 
of  giving  it  to  you  :  fortune  has  conquered  you  ;  we  in- 
stead praise  your  prowess  and  admire  you.  If  all  your 
companions  resemble  you,  the  work  to  which  we  have  been 
called  by  the  Vatican  will  be  very  arduous,  but  worthy  of 
a  son  of  France  ;  thus,  victory  will  be  very  glorious  for 
us,  and  defeat  without  shame. — But  now  let  us  escape  the 
storm  that  still  rages  ;  you  guide  us,  for  I  trust  in  your 
fidelity,  because  valorous  men  never  were  traitors." 

Thus  spoke  Charles,  and  God  who  penetrated  into  his 
heart,  knew  with  what  simulation.  The  truth  was  that 
he  was  not  so  readily  disposed  to  allow  himself  to  be  nav- 
igated by  the  conquered,  and  had  already  said  to  the  pilot : 
"You  will  command  this  galley;"  but,  being  expert  in 
worldly  affairs,  he  knew  that  when  one  cannot  use  armed 
diffidence  (which  is  the  best),  there  is  nothing  left  but 
the  ostentation  of  security ;  and  in  fact  that  half  victory 
of  his  did  not  reassure  him  at  all  respecting  the  daring  and 
strength  of  the  enemy. 

At  this  point  a  flash  of  lightning  illuminated  the  scene. 
Charles,  his  barons,  and  all,  crossed  themselves.  Dark- 
ness returned,  .  .  .  then  another  flash ;  .  .  .  finally  with 
a  tremendous  crash  a  thunderbolt  struck  the  ship. — Let 
him  who  has  not  seen  the  thunderbolt  fall  near  him,  read 
no  further  ;  for  his  imagination,  no  matter  how  lofty,  will 
never  conceive  its  mysterious  terror;  let  him  who  has 
seen  it  as  we  have  recall  to  mind  the  sensation  which  he 
experienced  in  that  moment,  and  this,  more  than  our 
words,  will  give  him  an  idea  of  the  case  we  are  describing. 

The  thunderbolt  first  struck  the  mainmast,  a  part  of 
which  it  split,  a  part  it  burnt ;  after  which  it  sprea'd  all 
over  deck  in  a  thousand  inflamed  tongues,  which  made  it 
look  as  if  deluged  with  fire  ;  progressing  thus  further  and 
further,  it  parted  into  innumerable  sparks,  which  finding 
obstacles  in  the  crevices  of  the  galley,  tore  apart  her  flanks 
with  a  wonderful  impetus  leaving  thus  large' gaps  for  the 
rushing  in  of  the  agitated,  waves  : — no  living  man  could 
have  withstood  the  stifling  sulphuric  odor  and  the  stun- 
ning explosion.  Imagine  what  it  must  have  been,  when 


124         The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

added  to  the  meteoric  flame  which  burned  the  hair  and 
flesh  of  the  dead  and  wounded  on  deck  and  blinded  the 
sight !  Both  French  and  Italians  fell  backwards,  as  if 
stricken  by  catalepsy. 

The  galley,  abandoned  to  itself,  was  filling  with  water 
through  many  fissures  ;  even  had  the  crew  used  all  their 
efforts,  they  would  not  have  been  able  to  save  her ;  una- 
ble as  they  were  to  move,  they  heard  the  gurgling  of  the 
water  pouring  into  her  hold ;  she  swung  for  a  moment, 
finally  she  pitched  ;  the  waves  that  had  parted  to  receive 
her  in  their  depths  gathered  back  surging  over  her  ;  she 
sunk  to  the  bottom  as  lead  in  deep  water.  Everything 
disappeared  :  the  brave  and  the  coward,  the  innocent  and 
the  guilty ; — and  the  glory  of  the  ocean  prevailed  over  the 
cry  of  victory. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    HEAD    OF   THE    UNJUST   JUDGE. 

Signer,  far  mi  convien  come  fa  il  buono 
Senator  sopra  il  suo  strumento  arguto, 
Che  spesso  muta  corda,  e  varia  suono, 
Ricei'cando  ora  il  grave,  ora  1'acuto. 

ARIOSTO,  Orlando  Furioso, 

My  lord,  so  must  I  do,  as  one  who  plays 

Skilfully  on  his  sounding  instrument, 
Oft  does  he  change  the  chord  in  various  ways, 

Now  high,  now  low,  harmonious  sounds  are  blent. 

M.  G.  M. 

APPY  was  he  *  who,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
divine  soul,  knew  how  to  vary  the  tones  of  his 
harp-strings,  and  shower  celestial  pleasure  upon 
his  immortal  verses.     Beautiful  as  the  rainbow  of 
God,  playful  as  the  butterfly  upon  the  field,  happy  as  the 

*  Ariosto. 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  125 

greeting  of  a  lover,  he  looked  at  earthly  things  through  the 
light  of  his  joyousness ;  he  drank  the  honey  from  the  flow- 
ers, avoiding  the  poisonous  by  some  singular  instinct,  or 
changing  their  .baleful  sweets  into  nectar  upon  his  lips. 
Alas  !  I,  who  from  my  birth  have  been  deprived  of  the 
consolations  of  the  imagination,  left  to  the  troubles  of  the 
world,  and  recalling  the  years  of  my  infancy,  find  no  place 
where  thought  loves  to  repose  for  a  moment,  and  have 
passed  many  many  nights  of  my  fair  youth  seated  upon  the 
graves  that  inclose  the  generations  of  dust,  to  meditate 
upon  misfortunes  and  crimes, — weeping  that  I  was  a  man, 
and  smiling  to  think  that  I  was  mortal, — and  with  the 
humiliating  feeling  of  being  made  of  clay,  have  bowed  my 
head  in  the  dust,  invoking  eternal  darkness  upon  creation 
to  conceal  within  it  my  own  shame, — let  not  him  who 
is  born  thus  dare  to  stretch  out  his  hand  to  the  harp  of 
harmony  ;  the  strings  will  snap  beneath  his  touch,  the 
notes  of  misfortune  and  sorrow  will  aqcompany  his  sad 
voice  : — no  laurel  of  the  poet,  but  cypress  watered  with 
tears,  will  be  the  crown  for  his  head ;  the  hatred  of  men 
his  reward  ;  their  execration  his  applause. 

Oh  innocent  youth,  caressed  by  the  smile  of  the  Eter- 
nal, attracted  by  the  flatteries  of  love,  eager  to  rush  upon 
life,  and  joyfully  waiting  for  a  cfawn  whose  sun  you  will 
never  see,  "  Regardless  of  the  sweeping  whirlwind's  sway," 
which  gathers  behind,  live,  live  in  the  blessed  illusions 
of  the  present  ;  do  not  look  on  these  pages  of  mine,  do 
not  touch  them,  for  they  drip  blood  !  The  peace  of  my 
own  heart  is  destroyed,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  destroy 
yours.  Leave  me  to  the  solitude  of  my  agonies  ;  what 
could. I  give  you  as  a  reward  for  lost  happiness  ?  Knowl- 
edge ?  Adam  ate  the  fatal  fruit,  and  knew  that  he  must 
die  ;  behold  the  knowledge  of  man  !  Poor  animate  earth, 
how  bitter  are  the  days  that  you  pass  upon  inanimate 
earth  ! 

It  is  Yole !  See  her  with  slow,  sad  steps,  walking 
through  the  alleys  of  the  garden,  one  hand  resting  upon 
her  heart,  the  other  hanging  motionless  at  her  side  ;  her 
face  is  as  white  as  the  spotless  veil  that  covers  her^iosom,' 
but  only  white.  Holy  Virgin  !  Her  eves  shine  with  un- 


126          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

natural  brilliancy,  and  with  dilated  pupils  are  fixed  in 
long  and  motionless  gaze.  What  does  the  miserable  girl 
behold  ?  No  earthly  object.  This  sense  would  seem  as 
if  dead  or  suspended,  but  for  a  tear  which  slowly  forms 
and  trickles  tremblingly  down  her  cheeks,  as  a  witness  to 
the  trouble,  too  great  for  the  mind  to  contain.  Queen 
Elena  and  Gismonda  follow  her  at 'a  distance.  Poor, 
unhappy  girl !  She  thought  that  their  love-meeting  had 
been  discovered,  feared  that  Rogiero  had  been  killed, 
and  the  delicate  fibres  of  her  brain  had  yielded  to  the 
weight  of  agony.  Now  a  thousand  confused  recollections 
flash  through  her  mind,  and  on  none  can  her  thoughts 
rest  for  an  instant.  Then  comes  a  dizzy  reaction,  a  con- 
fused whirl,  that  gives  her  a  sensation  such  as  one  feels, 
who  vainly  endeavors  to  retain  some  object  which  is 
constantly  slipping  from  his  grasp.  Now  the  imaginations 
of  her  fears  appear  to  her  like  events  which  have  taken 
place  in  her  presence.  She  hastens  her  step,  she  turns 
into  another  path",  but  neither  by  accelerating  the  one, 
nor  by  varying  the  other,  can  she  fly  from  the  illusions  of 
her  wandering  mind  ;  as  the  uncomfortable  sleeper  some- 
times dreams  that  he  is  pursued  by  an  indescribable  and 
terrible  demon,  and,  fleeing  and  fleeing  from  him,  that  he 
at  length  falls  down ;  endeavoring  to  rise,  his  paralyzed 
limbs  refuse  their  office,  yet,  on  hands  and  knees,  he 
continues  his  flight  until  breath  fails  him,  and  he  sinks 
petrified  by  terror.  Nature  cannot  sustain  such  suffering ; 
he  awakes,  frightened,  bathed  in  perspiration,  stretches 
out  his  hands,  knows  it  to  be  a  dream,  and  a  sigh  of  relief 
bursts  from  his  overcharged  heart.  The  past,  to  Yole, 
has  become  a  cloud,  the  future,  darkness  ;  she  recalls  a 
love,  a  face,  a  danger,  but  detached  and  unconnected ; 
her  ideas  are  like  the  clouds,  when  contrary  winds  rage, 
no\v  hurrying  on  one  side,  now  impetuously  meeting,  nor 
is  the  storm  that  follows  less  terrific  than  that  which 
afflicts  her  brain.  What  is  now  the  condition  of  her  soul, 
that  queen  of  human  sensation  ?  Why  does  it  remain  in 
the  body,  which  has  become  a  subject  of  tears  and  laugh- 
ter ?  Is  it  clear,  or  confused,  like  the  body  in  which  it 
continues  to  live  ?  Will  it  not,  or  can  it  not,  again  take 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  127 

command  of  the  rebellious  organs  ?  Why,  more  sublime 
than  the  clay  to  which  it  is  united,  is  it  subject  to  all  its 
changes  ?  Science  has  not  succeeded,  and  perhaps  never 
will,  in  revealing  such  mysteries  ;  but  pity  has  long  sighed 
over  this  abasement  of  our  unhappy  race.  Meanwhile, 
how  beautiful  is  Yole  wandering  in  the  silence  of  night, 
like  the  moon  in  the  heavens,  guided  by  which  the 
pilgrim  avoids  the  dangers  of  the  road,  and  reaches  his 
family  in  safety,  and  stops  upon  his  threshold  to  bless  the 
benign  ray.  Although  she  traverses  various  paths,  she 
directs  her  course  to  one  determinate  end  ;  sometimes 
she  encounters  some  object,  which  presents  itself  as  an 
insuperable  obstacle,  and  immediately  takes  another 
path  ;  had  she  found  them  all  impassable,  she  would  per- 
haps have  died.  Thus  wandering,  she  arrives  at  the 
place  where,  on  the  preceding  night,  her  mother  had 
found  her ;  she  stopped,  knelt,  looked  around  to  see  if 
she  were  observed,  then  wept  softly  ;  then  she  heaped  up 
a  little  mound  of  earth,  drew  from  her  breast  a  cross  of 
precious  stones,  and  planted  it  there.  Oh  the  prayer  of 
the  unfortunate  girl,  which  she  sighed  forth  with  clasped 
hands,  was  fervid  and  worthy  to  be  heard  !  At  last  she 
arose,  and  seemed  as  if  about  to  return  to  the  castle. 
Queen  Elena  ran  to  her,  with  sorrow  such  as  any  mother 
who  looks  upon  these  pages  may  imagine,  for  these  griefs 
may  be  felt,  not  told. 

"  You  are  come  at  last,"  said  Queen  Elena,  seeing 
Yole  approach  the  door  of  the  hall,  "  you  are  come  at 
last,  my  dear  daughter;"  and,  running  to  meet  her, 
kissed  her.  "Where  have  you  been?  1  have  called  you 
so  long,  and  you  did  not  reply." 

"  He  is  dead." 

"Who?" 

"  He." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  " 

Yole  did  not  reply. 

"  Ah,  my  daughter  !  When  will  you  cease  to  distress 
the  heart  of  your  poor  mother  ?  WThat  have  I  done  that 
you  should  reward  me  thus  ?  Have  I  not  borne  you  on 
my  bosom  ?  Have  I  not  nourished  you  from  my  breast, 


128          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

and  soothed  the  tears  of  your  infancy  ?  Disclose  to  me 
all  your  grief,  I  will  do  anything  for  you,  anything  rather 
than  see  you  unhappy;  where  can  you  hope  for  more 
pity  than  from  your  mother  ?  " 

-  Yole  was  silent. 

,  "  You  wish  to  kill  me,'  I  see,  ungrateful  girl !  You 
did  not  give  promise  of  such  cruelty, — no,  you  did  not 
give  promise  of  that.  Once  you  were  gentle,  kind  and 
compassionate, — now  how  changed  !  The  rest  of  the  few 
days  God  grants  to  me,  will  be  consumed  in  agony ;  you 
take  them  from  me,  .  .  .  you ;  .  .  .  but  no,  I  will  never 
curse  the  hour  of  your  birth." 

"  I  have  cursed  it." 

"  You  have  cursed  it !  Then  all  hope  is  departed  !  I 
will  never  show  my  face  again  ;  pardon  the  involuntary 
fault  which  I  committed,  in  giving  you  life,  as  I  pardon 
you  the  voluntary  one  of  cursing  it.  Hidden  in  my  cham- 
ber from  every  human  eye,  I  will  kill  myself  with  hunger. 
From  you  I  wish  neither  tears  nor  prayers  ;  nor  should 
you  give  them  to  me,  for  you  hate  that  bond  of  love 
which  nature  has  established  between  mother  and  child  ; 
— but  by  the  agonies  that  you  have  made  me  endure,  by 
past  griefs,  by  present  ones, — when  I  am  dead,  oh  !  I 
conjure  you,  Yole,  do  not  come  to  reproach  my  dust  for 
giving  you  life, — let  me  sleep  in  peace, — bone  of  my 
bone,  do  not  persecute  me  in  the  bosom  of  Eternity  ! " 

Queen  Elena  turned  to  depart.  Yole,  agitated  by 
fi'erce  emotions,  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  extend- 
ing her  clenched  hands,  and  rolling  up  her  bloodshot 
eyes,  till  the  whites  only  were  visible.  She  would  have 
recalled  her  mother,  but  the  words  could  not  escape  from 
her  swelling  throat ;  her  Only  utterance  was  a  sob  of 
anguish.  The  queen,  not  hearing  the  sound,  went  on;* 
Yole,  despairing  of  calling  her  back  by  her  voice,  endeav- 
ored to  do  so  by  a  gesture  ;  but  even  had  she  been  able 
to  extend  her  arms,  she  could  not  have  moved  a  ringer  to 
beckon  her  back,  so  tightly  had  the  agitation  which  con- 
vulsed her  compressed  her  nails  upon  the  palms. of  her 
hands.  Again  *she  essayed  to  speak  ; — vain  effort  !  her 
tongue  refused  its  office ; — she  could  utter  'only  broken 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  129 

and  inarticulate  sounds ;  the  tension  of  her  nerves 
relaxed,  her  eyelids  drooped.  Gismonda  received  her  in 
her  arms 


Rogiero,  having  followed"  for  s*ome~  distance  the  steps 
of  his  faithful  guide,  arrived  at  the  house.  For,  as  Homer 
relates  of  the  vessels  of  Achilles  and  Ajax,  the  cottages 
of  Drengotto  and  Ghino  were  very  far  from  each  other, 
being  situated  as  a  mark  of  the  trust  reposed  in  them  by 
their  lords,  at  the  very  extremities  of  the  banditti's  set- 
tlement. Indeed,  they  scorned  danger  more  than  all 
their  companions  :  the  first,  through  his  indifference  to 
good  or  evil,  the  principal  characteristic  of  his  disposi- 
tion ;  the  second,  because  of  a  certain  tranquil  security, 
that  generally  accompanies  minds  truly  great.  They 
entered.  Ghino,  after  he  had  rekindled  the  fire,  ap- 
proached Rogiero,  to  help  him  remove  his  armor.  He 
at  first  modestly  refused,  but  the  courteous  host  insisting, 
he  finally  consented.  Ghino,  as  he  unbuttoned  one  part 
after  another,  examined  each  attentively,  praising  one 
and  finding  fault  with  another,  manifesting  much  ac- 
quaintance with  arms,  and  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
subject.  Rogiero,  looking  round  the  hut,  saw  a  very 
long  lance,  the  extreme  length  of  which  preventing  its 
being  placed  erect  against  the  wall,  it  rested  diagonally 
between  two  corners.  Wondering  greatly  at  its  size,  and 
desirous  of  knowing  something  about  it,  he  asked, 

"  Courteous  host,  pray  is  that  the  spear  of  King  Arthur 
which  you  keep  in  the  corner  ?  " 

"  A  man  once  lived  in  Italy  who  wielded  it  in  his  youth, 
as  a  shepherd  wields  his  crook ;  he  conquered  with  it  at 
more  than  one  tournament,  and  overthrew  more  than  one 
knight  in  battle.  This  is  all  that  remains  to  me  of  the 
inheritance  of  my  ancestors, — it  is  my  father's  lance.  I 
also  once  brandished  it, — now  it  has  become  too  heavy 
for  my  failing  arm." 

"  God  help  us  !  Failing  !  It  seems  to  me  that  you 
cannot  be  over  forty." 

"  Is  it  age  alone  that  makes  us  weak  ?  " 
6* 


130          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

"  No,  truly.  But  pray  why  does  that  little  white  flag 
cover  the  point  ?  " 

"  Because  it  preserves  from  fading  a  spot  of  blood 
that  many  years  ago  was  incrusted  upon  it." 

Just  then  a  distant  bell  was  heard  sounding  the  Ave 
Maria  for  the  prayers  which  Catholics  recite  at  evening 
for  the  souls  of  their  dead.  Ghino  listened  earnestly  to 
the  strokes,  as  if  they  announced  some  disaster  to  him, 
then  said  to  Rogiero, 

"  Young  knight,  I  ask  your  pardon  if  for  one  moment 
I  leave  you  alone,  for  I  must  recite  my  prayers." 

"  What !  Have  you  anything  to  ask  or  to  thank 
Heaven  for?" 

"  I  ask  nothing  for  myself;  whatever  fate  is  sent  me, 
good  or  bad,  I  bow  in  resignation  ;  but  I  pray  for  the 
peace  of  the  dead." 

"  And  do  you  believe  they  are  benefited  by  the  prayers 
of  the  living?" 

"  I  do,  and  if  not,  it  would  serve  to  recall  them  to 
mind.  You  would  wish  to  remember,  at  least  once  a 
day,  a  father  killed  by  treachery." 

"  You  speak  truly.  I  will  pray  with  you,  although 
prayers  are  unnecessary  to  recall  my  father's  death  to 
me." 

"  Your  father  then  is  also  dead  ?  " 

"  And  killed  with  greater  tortures  than  the  most  cruel 
mind  can  imagine." 

"Deprofundis  clamavi"  said  Ghino,  kneeling  before 
an  image,  where  he  prayed  fervently  for  a  long  time, 
keeping  his  face  hidden  in  his  hands.  When  he  arose, 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  but  the  emotion  that  had  forced 
them  there  was  past.  Suddenly,  as  if  the  prayer  had  been 
a  parenthesis,  resuming  the  conversation,  he  asked 
Rogiero  : 

"  Have  you  avenged  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it." 

"Another  year,  should  we  be  permitted  to  meet  again, 
I  hope  I  may  reply  differently  to  you." 

"  Amen,  Sir  Knight." 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.          131 

Although  our  heroes  were  not  so  hungry  as  those  of 
Homer,*  whom  it  was  necessary  to  provide  with  supper 
thrice  in  one  evening,  provision  must  nevertheless  be 
made  to  meet  the  demands  of  appetite.  Ghino  set  the 
table,  gave  Rogiero  some  water  to  wash  his  hands,  and 
after  washing  his  own,  seated  himself  opposite.  The 
dishes  were  neither  many  nor  rare.  A  crane  which  had 
been  roasted  in  the  mofning  was  enough  to  satisfy  both. 
If  the  food  does  not  please  our  readers,  let  them  find 
fault  with  the  times  of  which  we  treat.  The  world,  since 
then,  has  changed  in  all  things,  both  small  and  great : 
falcons,  hawks,  sparrows,  and  similar  game  were  highly 
prized,  and  furnished  the  tables  of  the  great.  Nowadays 
they  would  be  spurned  by  the  poorest  beggar  that  ever 
implored  alms  for  the  love  of  God.  But  it  is  worthy  of 
remark  that  all  ages  agree  in  the  pleasure  of  drinking 
wine,  which  redounds  more  to  the  credit  of  the  wine  than 
to  that  of  men,  who  have  always  loved,  from  fools,  to 
become  drunkards,  and  vice  versd  per,omnia  scecula 
stzculorum. 

While  seated  at  table,  an  idea  so  perplexed  Rogiero, 
that  he  sat  abstracted,  forgetting  to  eat.  Ghino,  after 
looking  at  him  for  some  time,  broke  the  silence  by 
saying : 

"  Sir  Knight,  if  my  question  is  not  impertinent,  will  you 
tell  rne  of  what  you  are  thinking  so  earnestly  ?  " 

"  Messer  Ghino,"  said  Rogiero,  hesitating,  "  I  would 
willingly  comply  with  your  request  did  I  not  fear  to  seem 
indiscreet." 

"  Do  not  hesitate  on  that  account.  Speak  freely,  for 
you  can  ask  me  nothing  that  I  shall  not  be  pleased  to  an- 
swer." 

"  I  was  thinking  how  a  courteous  baron,  such  as  you 
seem  to  be,  can  take  pleasure  in  a  profession  that  all 
agree  in  calling  infamous,  for  I  do  not  believe  that  you 
were  born  to  it." 

"You  have  guessed  rightly,  I  was  not  born  to  it ;  nor 
do  I  differ  from  those  who  call  it  infamous,  although  I  am 

*  Ulysses  and  Diomedes. — Iliad,  9,  10. 


132          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

convinced  that  should  you  say  to  them  :  '  He  that  is 
without  sin  among  you,  let  him  first  cast  a  stone,'  not 
one  of  them  would  be  so  imprudent  as  to  dare  to  do  it. 
I  hate  the  banditti  by  whom  I  am  surrounded,  but  I  find 
myself  necessarily  united  with  them.  Fortune  gave  me 
wealth  and  an  illustrious  name  :  my  wealth  is  changed  to 
poverty,  and  my  name  to  reproach.  You  may  look  upon 
me  as  a  plaything  of  fortune,  or  rather  a  wreck  left  by 
the  storm  of  persecution,  for  I  am  Ghino  di  Tacco  dei 
Grandi  di  Siena."  * 

"  You  Ghino  di  Tacco,  the  famous  bandit !  "  exclaimed 
Rogiero,  rising. 

"  Ghino  di  Tacco  Monaceschi  dei  Pecorai  da  Torrita," 
replied  Ghino,  unmoved.  "You  may  have  heard  strange 
tales  of  me,  for  I  know  that  the  crazy  rabble  paint  me  as 
a  giant  of  terrible  aspect,  and  with  a  heart  void  of  pity. 
I  know  that  women  use  my  name  to  frighten  children, 
and  to  keep  them  still,  as  if  I  were  an  ogre  or  a  goblin, 
for  'tis  an  old  saying  that  when  men  persecute  their  fel- 
low-men, they  are  not  contented  with  making  them 
merely  unhappy,  but  wish  to  render  them  infamous  also ; 
this,  however,  is  but  a  slight  matter.  Do  you  think  me 
one  to  care  for  blame  or  praise  ?  " 

"I  have  often  heard  you  spoken  of  as  a  knight  well 
skilled  in  arms,  and  more  than  one  person  has  expressed 
regret  in  my  presence  that  you  should  be  driven  to  a 
calling  which  you  certainly  do  not  love." 

"  Thanks  to  those  wise  ones.  In  the  state  of  warfare 
against  society  in  which  I  find  myself,  I  endeavor  to  fol- 
low to  the  utmost  the  rule  of  doing  as  little  evil  as  possi- 
ble. If,  on  the  road,  I  meet  some  poor,  good  man,  I 
help  him  ;  if  a  scholar,  I  give  him  money  wherewith  to 
buy  books,  and  entreat  him  to  apply  himself  usefully,  for 
I  love  my  country ;  but  the  rich  priest,  the  proud  noble, 
must  pay  a  ransom.  They  have  taken  all  from  me  ;  some 
of  them  must  support  me.  They  try  to  kill  me,  and  they 
do  their  duty.  I  do  not  kill,  but  I  draw  money  from 

*  Ghino  di  Tacco  is  no  fabulous  creation,  but  a  strictly  historical 
personage.  See  appendix. 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  133 

them,  and  thus  do  mine.     If  they  wish  for  peace,  I  will 
be  the  first  to  lay  down  my  arms.     And  if  it  is  true  that 
the  riches  of  the  few  make  the  misery  of  the  many,  1  aidj 
society,  even  when  I  wage  war  upon  it." 

"  Truly,  Siena  lost  much  when  you  abandoned  her." 

"  I  did  not  abandon  her,  Sir  Knight ;  I  was  expelled 
from  her." 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope  that  you  can  ever  return  as  a 
true  and  loyal  citizen  ?  " 

"  None  whatever.  The  offence  is  too  great  for  pardon. 
Would  you  like  to  hear  the  story  of  my  adventures  ?  It 
is  not  long,  although  as  terrible  as  any  that  have  ever 
happened  in  the  world." 

"  I  should  esteem  it  as  the  greatest  courtesy." 

"  Upon  the  banks  of  the  Arbia,  where  P'arinata  degli 
Uberti,  the  brave  knight,  conquered  his  enemies,  and  sep- 
arated their,  cause  from  that  of  their  country  (for  them 
he  wished  dead,  but  his  country  powerful),  rose  the  hum- 
ble towers  of  my  castle  of  Torrita.  Not  far  from  them 
were  situated  the  rich  estate  and  proud  castles  of  the 
Counts  of  Santa  Fiora.  Haughty  men  !  elated  with 
wealth,  they  deemed  that  honor  could  not  dwell  in  those 
of  poor  estate,  and  exercised  all  their  power  to  do  evil, 
for  this  they  esteemed  lordly ;  to  be  courteous  and  kind, 
weak. 

"  Tacco,  my  father,  who  wielded  that  lance,  and  whom 
all  considered  an  honorable  knight,  although  of  much  less 
wealth  than  the  Counts  of  Santa  Fiora,  labored  earnestly 
in  helping  the  poor  of  the  neighborhood,  in  redressing 
wrongs,  and  in  restoring  peace  to  those  from  whom  it 
Jiad  departed.  When  he  passed  through  the  village,  the 
cry  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth :  '  Haste,  and  see  the 
knight!'  and  forthwith  appeared  a  crowd  of  women  at  the 
windows,  men  on  the  balconies  of  their  shops,  with  heads 
uncovered,  and  children  crowding  round  him  to  kiss  his 
hand.  He,  far  from  being  annoyed,  was  pleased  with 
this  demonstration,  and  some  of  the  children  he  patted 
lightly  on  the  cheek,  and  on  others  laid  his  terrible 
hand,  like  the  paw  of  a  lion  protecting  its  offspring. 
Often  he  wept  with  tenderness ;  oftener  he  exclaimed  : 


134          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

'  Lordly  squires,  why  seek  to  remove  these  people  from 
me  ?  Do  you  take  it  ill  that  they  love  me  ? '  Some- 
times, at  sunset,  dressed  in  a  coat  of  skins,  and  mounted 
on  a  sorry  nag,  he  went  along  the  road,  and  begged  each 
one  that  he  met,  in  the  name  of  his  master,  Tacco  da 
Torrita,  to  accept  lodging  for  that  night  at  the  castle. 
Then  he  delighted  to  reveal  himself  as  the  lord,  and  if 
the  guest  were  poor,  he  supplied  his  wants,  and  sent  him 
away  contented. 

"  It  often  happened  that  the  Counts  of  Santa  Fioraheld 
a  great  court,  and  caused  it  to  be  published  abroad. — 
Irreparable  dishonor  !  their  tables  were  deserted,  while 
the  same  day  guests  were  not  wanting  at  Torrita  ;  for  you 
must  know,  Sir  Knight,  that  in  giving,  an  indescribable 
tact  is  required,  which  cannot  be  taught,  but  comes  from 
nature,  like  beauty  of  person.  Giving  to  another,  argues 
yourself  more  powerful  than  he," — and  here  Ghino,  raising 
his  finger,  commanded  all  Rogiero's  attention, — "and 
men  are  not  wont  to  pardon  any  kind  of  superiority ;  a 
gift  is  very  often  the  result  of  pride  in  the  giver,  and  is 
based  upon  the  inferiority  of  the  receiver.  Hence  you 
must  not  wonder  if  you  often  hear  ingratitude  spoken  of 
unjustly,  for  the  present  of  the  rich  is  a  humiliation  to  the 
poor  rather  than  a  benefit,  because  the  rich  man  thinks  that 
on  account  of  his  wealth  he  can  buy  the  poor,  both  body 
and  soul.  That  charm,  that  affability  of  manner,  which, 
because  it  costs  no  effort,  we  do  not  perceive  or  do  not 
remember,  but  which  convinces  at  once  the  one  accepting 
that  he  does  honor  to  him  who  gives,  and  by  refusing 
would  offend  him,  so  that  through  a  sense  of  politeness  he 
is  forced  to  accept  the  courtesy,  are  things,  Sir  Knight,  to 
admire,  but  not  to  be  faught.  These  were  the  civil  virtues 
of  my  father.  The  military, — you  have  mistaken  his  lance 
for  that  of  the  fabulous  husband  of  Queen  Guinever ;  it 
will  be  enough  to  say,  that  once,  jousting  in  the  tourna- 
ment commonly  held  in  Siena  at  Christmas,  he  won 
twenty  suits  of  armor  and  as  many  horses,  which  he  not 
only  restored  to  the  knights,  without  ransom,  but  carried 
them  with  him  to  Torrita,  where  he  kept  them  several 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  135 

days,  magnificently  entertained,  and  sent  them  back  to 
their  castles  captivated  by  his  nobleness. 

"The  Counts  of  Santa  Fiora  not  excelling  in  these 
knightly  exercises,  used  all  their  influence  with  the 
mayoralty  of  Siena  to  have  them  abolished  ;  but  always 
in  vain,  for  the  Siencse  are  skilful  in  the  use  of  arms,  and 
are  great  lovers  of  these  combats.  In  the  corrupt  age  in 
which  we  live,  emulation  produces  hate  rather  than  virtue, 
nor  did  my  father,  kind  to  all  others,  show  much  courtesy 
towards  the  Counts  of  Santa  Fiora,  for  every  time  he  found 
himself  in  arms  with  them,  he  always  placed  himself  on 
the  opposite  side,  and  gave  them  such  blows  that  he  often 
sent  them  back  wounded  to  their  castles.  Often  from  the 
slightest  causes  the  most  savage  encounters  arose  :  the 
hatred  of  the  knights  extended  itself  to  -their  vassals ; 
who,  often  meeting  each  other  in  the  fields,  came  first  to 
threatening  words,  then  to  blows  and  death.  The  barons 
"deemed  it  necessary  for  their  own  honors  to  protect 
their  own  followers,  and  thus  open  war  broke  out  in  the 
bosom  of  a  country  that  boasted  liberty  of  the  state,  and 
a  republican  government.  My  father,  although  much  in- 
ferior in  wealth  and  in  the  number  of  his  retainers,  fought 
so  valiantly,  that  the  counts,  thinking  open  force  useless, 
had  recourse  to  treachery. 

"  I  remember  nothing,  being  then  only  about  four  years 
old,  of  the  dreadful  night  when  the  treacherous  vassals  on 
guard  at  the  gate  of  the  castle  gave  entrance  to  the 
Counts  of  Santa  Fiora's  men  ;  I  have  only  a  confused 
recollection  of  dishevelled  damsels  running  hither  and 
thither,  as  if  beset  by  evil  spirits,  and  of  a  lady,  very,  very 
pale,  who  took  me  in  her  arms,  and  carried  me  through 
many  dark  paths,  to  a  man  completely  armed,  who 
embraced  us  both.  My  poor  mother  !  Think  with  what 
feeling  so  noble  a  lady  fled,  barefoot  arid  half-clad,  with 
her  son  clinging  to  her  neck,  from  the  pillaged  home  of 
her  noble  husband,  uncertain  of  his  fate  ;  for  at  the  sud- 
den alarm  he  had  hastened  to  arm  himself  for  their  de- 
fence !  A  thousand  times  have  my  old  vassals  related 
to  me  the  incredible  feats  which  my  father  performed 
during  that  night,  which  put  to  shame  the  fabulous  deeds 


136          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

of  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table  ;  but  his  enemies 
were  too  numerous  ;  overpowered  by  numbers,  he  still 
fought,  until  he  knew  that  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his 
most  faithful  vassals  had  reached  a  place  of  safety.  He 
was  the  armed  knight  who  had  received  us  in  the  coun- 
try, and  whom  I,  although  accustomed  to  see  him  every 
day,  did  not  recognize,  such  a  change  had  his  efforts  both 
of  body  and  mind  wrought  in  his  appearance.  They 
have  also  told  me,  that,  although  he  had  received  no  mor- 
tal wound,  the  cuts  and  stabs  were  so  many,  that  for  a 
long  time  afterward  he  could  not  put  on  his  armor. 
Here  a  break  occurs  in  my  memory,  and  I  can  only  recall 
having  been  carried  to  a  castle  by  the  lady  who  saved  me, 
where  was  a  beautiful  woman  dressed  in  black,  and  a 
priest  whom  I  recognized  as  the  chaplain  of  the  castle  ; 
they  welcomed  us  courteously,  and  after  my  mother  had 
conversed  with  them  apart,  they  wept  more  violently  than 
I  believed  any  one  could  weep  for  another's  misfortune. 
My  mother  led  me  every  evening  to  a  dark  place,  where 
a  single  lamp  burned  before  the  image  of  the  Redeemer, 
and  here  we  prayed,  together  with  the  lady  of  the  castle 
and  the  chaplain  ;  then  she  carried  me  to  bed,  and  before 
I  went  to  sleep,  related  to  me  many  valiant  achievements 
performed  by  ancient  knights.  One  evening  I  missed 
her  ;  the  next  also.  I  inquired  of  her  from  the  lady,  but 
she  made  me  no  reply.  Without  knowing  why,  I  began  to 
weep  :  the  chaplain  dried  his  eyes  behind  the  chair  of  the 
lady,  who  appeared  more  moved  by  my  tears  than  by  the 
death  of  her  unfortunate  sister. 

" '  Whose  long  stick  is  this  ?  '  I  asked  the  lady  one  day, 
seeing  that  lance  suspended  in  the  castle  hall.  '  It  is 
your  father's  lance.'  'And  that  bloody  garment  ?'  'It 
is  your  father's.'  '  Why  does  he  never  come  to  see  me? 
Am  I  disagreeable  to  him  ? '  '  You  are  an  orphan  ;  he 
loved  you  more  than  his  life,  but  his  enemies  have  killed 
him.1  '  Oh  Dio  !  where  are  those  traitors  ?  What  are 
their  names,  lady  ?  '  '  Son  of  the  betrayed,  you  shall 
know,  when  you  can  avenge  them.'  '  When  will  that  be, 
dear  lady  ? '  '  When  you  can  wield  that  spear,  as  you 
now  do  the  rod  which  you  hold  in  your  hand.'  See  how 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  137 

ideas  of  vengeance  and  death  entered  my  mind  before  I 
knew  how  man  can  injure  his  fellow-man. 

"  From -that  moment  the  only  idea  I  cherished  was  that 
of  becoming  strong  enough  to  wield  the  lance.  The  dawn 
found  me  in  the  woods,  the  setting  sun  left  me  there.  In 
short,  I  became  'a  mighty  hunter.1  When,  breathless 
with  exultation,  I  reached  the  castle,  bearing  upon  my 
shoulders  a  boar,  killed  by  my  spear,  the  lady  would  run 
with  joyful  face  to  meet  and  kiss  me.  If  unsuccessful,  I 
followed  by-paths,  and  hid  myself  in  the  most  retired  part 
of  the  castle,  raging  with  anger.  Often  at  night,  when  all 
around  was  still,  1  went  as  stealthily  as  a  robber  to  the 
place  where  the  lance  stood,  and  taking  it  by  one  end, 
tried  to  raise  it ;  prodigious  were  my  exertions  ;  I  placed 
my  hands  in  every  position,  pressed  and  shook  it,  but  all 
in  vain,  for  its  immovable  weight  seemed  to  scorn  my 
weakness  ;  till  at  length,  disturbed  from  its  equilibrium,  it 
would  fall  with  a  loud  noise,  and  I  would  make  my 
escape  through  the  darkness,  ha-lf  ashamed  to  be  detected 
in  the  attempt.  In  the  morning,  it  would  be  standing  in 
the  old  position,  as  if  to  challenge  me  again. 

"  The  time  came  at  last,  when  with  strained  muscles 
and  clenched  teeth  I  raised  it  in  both  hands  and  held  it 
fast.  'You  have  lifted  it!'  cried  the  lady's  voice  be- 
hind me.  '  Orphan,  in  a  year  and  a  day  you  shall  know 
what  is  required  of  you.'  A  splendid  feast  was  pre- 
pared, the  banners  waved  on  the  castle  walls,  and  the 
trumpets  resounded  from  morning  till  evening,  to  cele- 
brate the  festival  of  the  raising  of  the  lance.  The  days 
passed,  the  months  went  by,  the  year  was  completed.  At 
midnight  a  knock  came  at  my  chamber  door,  and  a  voice 
cried  :  '  Why  sleeps  the  son  of  the  betrayed  ?  The 
hour  of  knowledge  has  come.'  The  lady  of  the  castle 
took  me  by  the  hand,  she  trembled  like  a  leaf,  and  led 
me  to  the  chapel ;  upon  the  altar  lay  an  open  book  and 
the  bloody  garment  ;  the  lance  was  in  my  right  hand. 
'  This  garment  your  father  wore  on  the  day  of  his  death  ; 
the  blood  with  which  it  is  dyed  is  your  father's,  drawn 
from  his  veins  by  the  treachery  of  Iris  enemies;  swear, 
son  of  the  betrayed,  upon  the  Holy  Gospel,  that  you  will 


138          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

avenge  him.'  I  leaned  the  spear  against  the  altar,  and 
striking  both  hands  upon  the  book,  cried  :  '  I  swear  it.' 
The  lady  threw  herself  upon  my  neck,  wept,  laughed, 
and  kissed  me  passionately.  '  Bold  heart,  true  son  of 
my  murdered  brother,  learn  who  you  are.'  She  then 
narrated  what  you  already  know,  and  added :  '  The 
lady  who  brought  you  that  evening  to  the  chapel  was 
your  mother;  she  lived  with  me,  as  the  wife  of  the 
outlaw  upon  whose  head  a  price  is  set  only  can  live. 
One  night,  a  vassal,  dressed  in  mourning,  came  to  my 
castle,  and  asked  to  see  me.  "  What  news,  vassal,"  I  de- 
manded, as  soon  as  I  entered  the  hall.  "  My  lady,  I 
bring  you  the  words  of  your  brother,  but  they  are  his  last 
words."  "  Tell  them."  "  Before  his  head  fell  beneath  the 
axe,  Mooseigneur  Tacco  ca*lled  me  to  him  and  said, 
'  When  I  am  dead,  take  my  shirt,  and  stain  it  deeply  in 
my  blood  ;  take  also  my  lance,  and  go  with  them  both  to 
Radicofani,  to  my  sister,  the  Lady  Gualdrada, — under- 
stand clearly, — my  sister, — the  news  would  kill  my  wife, — 
and  say  to  her,  My  lady,  this  is  the  inheritance  which 
your  brother  sends  to  his  son  Ghino,  and  he  begs  you,  if 
you  ever  loved  him  in  life,  and  desire  the  peace  of  his 
soul  in  death,  that  you  never  let  his  son  know  of  his  mis- 
fortunes, until  he  is  old  enough  to  wield  this  lance;  then 
reveal  his  race,  and  make  him  swear  upon  the  Gospel  to 
avenge  me.'  Of  his  wife  he  does  not  speak ;  this  hope 
has  made  the  hour  of  his  murder  less  bitter."  '  The  news 
could  not  be  concealed  from  your  mother ;  she  came  to 
me  to  learn  the  truth ;  I  neither  denied  nor  confirmed  it ; 
she  fell  senseless,  and — now  lies — buried — here — beneath 
you,r  feet.  After  your  father  had  been  banished  from  the 
country  of  Siena,  he  had  turned  bandit ;  chained  in  his 
sleep  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Philistines.  His  words 
moved  the  citizens,  and  he  might  have  been  saved ;  but 
Benincasa  of  Arezzo,  judge  of  the  criminal  court  of 
Siena,  sold  his  life,  and  the  Counts  of  Santa  Fiora  paid 
the  price  of  blood.  He  died  upon  the  scaffold,  I  tell  you 
— upon  the  scaffold.  Let  your  hatred  rest  upon  the 
counts — if  in  your  soul  there  is  anything  worse  than  hatred, 
let  it  fall  on  Benincasa: — they  were  old  enemies,  he,  a 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.          139 

trembling  coward  who  bartered  the  life  of  an  innocent 
man  for  ducats ;  now  he  holds  the  office  of  Senator  at 
Rome.  Fortune  offers  you  a  splendid  place  for  revenge. 
From  this  moment  you  can  no  longer  dwell  in  my  castle  : 
one  hour  has  already  passed  since  midnight,  the  heavens 
rage  furiously,  but  arm  yourself  and  go.  The  only  signal 
at  which  the  drawbridge  of  Radicofani  shall  fall,  is  the 
head  of  Benincasa." 

"The  tempest  roared,  I  heard  it  not ;  in  company  with 
my  thoughts,  I  rode  through  my  usurped  territories.  I 
showed  the  bloody  shirt,  I  showed  the  son  of  the  good 
knight,  shaking  his  father's  lance,  and  all  the  vassals 
proffered  rne  aid.  I  chose  four  hundred,  and  with  a  speed 
almost  equal  to  my  impatience,  we  reached  Rome, — 
Rome,  the  great  skeleton.  We  arrived  at  the  base  of  the 
Capitol.  I  seemed  to  hear  the  Roman  spectres  groan 
from  amidst  those  magnificent  ruins.  For  one  moment  I 
forgot  my  revenge,  but  for  one  moment  only.  I  left  my 
companions,  and  ascended  the  staircase  alone.  A  man 
of  low  stature,  of  cadaverous  complexion,  thin,  with  wrin- 
kled cheeks  and  forehead,  was  turning  the  pages  of  a 
heavy  volume  with  a  palsied  hand ;  at  first  sight  of  him, 
I  felt  that  shudder  which  one  feels  at  something  loath- 
some, and  from  which  one  recoils  for  fear  of  contamina- 
tion :  this  loathing  1  have  ever  since  felt  when  I  meet  men 
wearing  the  toga :  indeed  they  are  the  scum  of  human 
vice  ;  sellers  of  words  without  sense  ;  mercenary  as  the 
soul  of  Judas,  they  base  their  power  upon  the  quarrels  of 
man  against  man,  often  of  brother  against  brother,  or  of 
father  against  son.  Impudent  beyond  compare,  they  un- 
cover with  profane  hands  the  stains  of  our  race,  they  ex- 
cite a  mad  thirst  for  riches,  and  they  sow,  as  Cadmus  the 
dragon's  teeth,  the  maxim,  that  there  is  no  refined  feeling 
in  the  world  that  is  worth  a  piece  of  coined  gold  ;  puffed 
up  with  vain  knowledge,  like  a  man  drunk  with  wine, 
deformed  from  the  wearisome  business  of  bending  over 
books,  and  thus  confusing  the  intellect  that  nature  has 
given  them  ;  three  errors,  written  by  ignorant  people  be- 
fore them,  they  can  transform  into  one  truth ;  he  whose 
memory  is  best  stocked  with  these  errors  has  the  best 


140          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

reputation.  Oh  !  that  they  all  had  but  one  head  !  I  ap- 
proached the  seat  of  the  vile  man  ;  he  raised  his  head, 
half  closing  his  eyes,  weakened  by  reading,  to  see  me 
better.  '  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ? '  he  asked 
in  a  shrill  voice.  '  Be  quick,  for  I  have  much  to  do  this 
morning.'  '  Great  Senator,'  I  replied,  drawing  nearer 
to  his  seat,  '  mine  is  a  small  affair,  and  may  be  settled  in 
a  moment ! '  '  Do  not  come  any  nearer  ;  it  is  forbidden 
to  come  too  near  the  Senator.'  I  took  no  notice,  but 
still  advancing,  continued  :  '  You  owe  me  a  debt.'  '  A 
debt  ?  You  are  mad.  Take  this  madman  away,  drive 
him  out,  put  him  in  prison  ! '  '  You  are  the  madman,  to 
believe  yourself  safe,  when  you  have  betrayed  the  inno- 
cent ;  you  owe  me  my  father's  life.'  By  this  time,  I  had 
placed  myself  behind  him,  and  seized  him  by  the  throat 
with  such  fury  that  his^eyes  seemed  starting  from  his  head, 
and  his  lips  hesitatingly  murmured  :  '  Salvumfac  spiritum 
mtum  ;  ' — but  I  whispered  in  his  ear  :  '  Perdition  !  Per- 
dition ! '  I  then  drew  my  knife,  and  following  the  blue 
impress  of  my  fingers,  cut  off  his  head,  grasping  it  by  the 
hair  with  the  joy  of  a  lover  pressing  the  hand  of  his  be- 
loved. Meanwhile  a  crowd  had  collected.  Undismayed, 
I  turned,  extending  my  arm,  showing  my  clenched  hand, 
and  the  bloody  knife,  and  cried  to  them  :  '  Christians,  I 
make  a  vow  to  God,  that  whoever  opposes  my  path  shall 
receive  this  knife  in  his  heart.'  It  would  seem  that  my 
bearing  corresponded  to  my  words,  for  they  drew  back 
on  all  sides,  murmuring  like  the  sea  when  the  wind  is  at 
rest.  My  vassals  received  me  with  loud  cries  of  joy  ;  I 
fastened  the  head  of  Benincasa  to  my  father's  lance,  and 
giving  orders  that  the  trumpets  should  sound  joyfully,  left 
Rome,  passing  through  an  immense  concourse  of  people 
awe-struck  by  so  bold  an  exploit.  '  Guard  !  Guard  ! 
Lower  the  drawbridge  ! '  '  Who  wishes  to  enter  at  such 
an  hour?'  'Lower  the  drawbridge,  for  I  am  Ghino.' 
'My  lord,  you  know  her  ladyship's  command  :  have  you 
the  token  ?  '  '  Knave,  do  you  think  that  I  would  dare  to 
appear  before  her  without  it  ? '  .  I  passed  the  bridge,  I 
flew  to  the  chamber  of  Lady  Gualdrada ;— she  was  not 
there.  I  ran  to  the  chapel,  and  ere  I  reached  it,  her 


The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge.  141 

voice,  chanting  the  psalms,  announced  her  presence  there  : 
I  entered  by  a  little  door  beside  the  altar,  and  saw  her 
kneeling  by  the  chancel,  absorbed  in  her  devotions  ;  a 
single  candle  shed  its  faint  rays  upon  her,  beside  which 
lay  a  rosary.  At  the  grating  of  the  door  upon  its  hinges, 
and  at  the  noise  of  my  footsteps,  she  raised  her  eyes,  but 
could  perceive  nothing  in  the  darkness.  I  advanced 
slowly,  without  uttering  a  word,  extending  the  hand 
which  held  the  head  of  Benincasa  ;  gradually,  as  I  ap- 
proached the  light,  she  perceived  an  indistinct  object, — 
the  head  of  a  man  suspended  in  the  air.  '  The  face  of 
Benincasa ! '  I  exclaimed.  '  The  signal  was  given,  the 
bridge  was  lowered.' — '  It  was  well  done,'  replied  the  lady  ; 
and  quietly  closing  her  book,  she  took  the  candle,  and 
holding  it  before  my  eyes,  looked  at  me  fixedly.  Ascer- 
taining that  I  was  indeed  her  nephew,  her  face  became 
alternately  flushed  and  pallid.  Grasping  at  the  balus- 
trade for  support,  her  strength  failed,  and  she  fell  sense- 
less into  my  arms.  Since  that  time  every  one  has  de- 
clared war  against  me,  and  I  am  happily  able  to  defend 
myself  from  all.  The  excellent  lady  died,  and  appointed 
me  her  heir.  She  held  Radicofani  as  feudatory  from  the 
church  ;  I  hold  it  from  no  one,  and  acknowledge  neither 
vassalage  nor  homage  : — let  them  come  and  expel  me,  if 
they  wish.  More  than  once  have  the  Counts  of  Santa 
Fiora  had  their  heads  broken,  their  castles  burned,  their 
farms  destroyed.  At  last,  leaving  the  country,  they  betook 
themselves  to  Siena,  where  fear  of  me  holds  them  impris- 
oned. Should  they  dare  to  pass  its  bounds,  the  penalty  is 
— death.  I  need  not  relate  to  you  all  my  deeds ;  you 
can  imagine  what  must  be  those  of  a  poor  bandit ;  but 
if  they  are  not  illustrious,  neither  are  they  cruel.  Good 
is  forbidden,  glory  refused  me  ;  all  that  I  can  hope  for,  is 
to  be  less  hated.  Now  a  desire  has  seized  me  to  ap- 
proach the  kingdom  of  Sicily,  for.  I  love  Manfred  ;  and 
although  he  does  not  know  it,  in  me  he  has  a  friend  who 
will  sustain  him  while  life  lasts." 

"  Holy  Mary  !     Do  you  love  Manfred  ?  " 
"Why  should  I  not  love  him  ?    Are  not  his  deeds  such 
that  envy  itself  could  not  find  fault  with  them  ?  " 


142          The  Head  of  the  Unjust  Judge. 

"  How  little  you  know  him  !  He  is  the  worst  man  the 
sun  shines  upon  ;  the  murderer  of  his  brother,  and  my 
mortal  enemy." 

Then  Rogiero  related  all  that  had  happened,  and  what 
he  intended  to  do,  and  then  added  :  "What  do  you  think 
of  him  ?  Is  this  a  man  to  be  loved  ?  " 

"  You  do  well  to  hate  him,  if  these  things  are  true.  I, 
an  Italian,  see  in  Manfred  a  bold  and  wise  compatriot, 
who  loves  Italy,  and  wishes  to  make  her  great ;  hence  I 
cannot,  I  ought  not  to  hate  him  ;  even  were  he  not  so,  but 
an  avaricious  and  rapacious  foreigner,  I  should  indeed 
like  to  assist  in  his  expulsion  by  our  own  arms,  but  not 
by  the  aid  of  foreign  ones  ;  the  fable  is  a  very  old  one,  of 
the  dog,  that,  covered  with  wasps,  remained  quiet  without 
even  winking,  saying  to  those  who  questioned  him,  that 
they  were  now  satiated  with  blood,  and  no  longer  gave 
him  any  trouble,  but  that  if  he  should  shake  them  off, 
other  thirsty  ones  would  take  their  place,  to  suck  what 
they  had  left." 

"  Should  I  then  renounce  my  revenge,  because  his  in- 
terests are  united  to  those  of  Italy  ?  No,  let  him  die  ;  we 
will  provide  for  the  arms  of  the  foreigner." 

"  To  get  rid  of  the  foreigners  is  not  so  easy  as  to  invite 
them  ;  and  with  most  uncertain  hope,  you  bring  most 
certain  ruin  upon  your  country." 

"  How  then  should  I  appease  my  father's  spirit  ?  What 
would  you  have  done?" 

"  Sir  Knight,  I  do  not  wish  to  call  myself  either  a  very 
good,  or  a  very  bad  man  ;  I  do  not  know  what  I  should 
have  done  in  your  case.  I  thank  fortune,  that  in  aveng- 
ing myself  I  have  injured  but  few." 

"  Your  reply  is  like  pushing  back  the  shipwrecked 
sailor  who  is  on  the  point  of  reaching  the  shore." 

"  But,"  replied  Ghino,  hiding  his  face,  "  I  could  give 
you  my  life,  though  not  my  counsel." 

"  You  hate  me  ?  " 

"I  pity  you.  In  any  case,  remember  that  I  gladly 
owe  you  my  life." 

They  then  arose  and  went  to  bed.  In  the  morning, 
Rogiero,  taking  leave  of  his  host,  who  with  regret  wit- 
nessed his  departure,  pursued  his  way. 


The  Traitor's  End.  143 

CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  TRAITOR'S  END. 

Jamque  rubescebat  stellis  Aurora  fugatis  : 
Quum  procul  obscuros  colles  humilemque  videmus 
Italiam.     Italiam  primus  conclamat  Achates  ; 
Italiam  laeto  socii  clamore  salutant. 

,  Zz<5.  3. 


Now  paled  the  stars  before  the  rosy  dawn  ; 
Dimly  appeared  the  mountains  far  withdrawn  ; 
Then  soon  the  Italian  shores  Achates  spied; 
And,  Italy  !  each  joyful  sailor  cried. 

M.  G.  M. 

EHOLD  the  Alps  !  How  many  ages  crown 
their  summits  !  Time  wraps  them  in  his  mys- 
teries. Of  those  which  are  known  some  appear 
as  brilliant  as  the  gems  in  a  royal  diadem  ; 
others  glooming  with  a  blood-red  tint,  like  the  last  expir- 
ing ray  of  the  setting  sun  ;  others  shadowy  with  a  terrible 
darkness.  From  those  rocks,  blasted  by  the  lightning, 
the  Roman  eagle  beheld  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and 
spreading  its  wings  for  the  destined  course,  heralded  with 
terror  from  province  to  province,  from  land  to  land,  the 
victory  of  the  immortal  legions.  The  lofty  destiny  of 
Hannibal  taught  it  the  sad  knowledge  that  it  could  be 
conquered  ;  still,  so  long  as  the  virtues  of  the  nation 
formed  its  nest,  it  remained,  together  with  the  Alps,  the 
terror  of  the  nations.  When  consumed  by  years  and  by 
vice  the  empire  of  the  Caesars  fell  beneath  the  weight  of 
its  own  greatness,  the  proud  eagle  abandoned  that  corpse 
of  glory,  leaving  the  hordea  of  northern  crows  to  batten 
on  the  dead  remains.  Charlemagne  came,  but  the 
eagle  had  fled,  the  nest  was  cold,  and  he  scattered  it  to 
the  winds.  The  spirit  of  a  proud  captain  wanders  raging 
over  those  fearful  precipices.  Miscreant  !  To  him  the 
fates  of  the  world  had  granted  the  power  to  raise  again 
the  ancient  virtue  of  Rome,  to  show  that  the  heroes  of 


144  The  Traitor's  End. 

antiquity  could  be  now  not  merely  imitated  but  surpassed 
in  Italy;  the  eagle  rested  upon  his  hand  as  securely  as 
upon  the  sceptre  of  Ccesar  ;  who  would  have  prevented 
him,  or  could,  even  if  they  had  wished  to  ?  Did  he  not 
conquer  at  once  men  and  fate.  And  surely  Italian  were 
the  voices  that  taught  him  the  first  words  of  love,  Italian 
was  the  air  that  he  first  breathed,  Italian  the  sun  that 
warmed  his  infant  limbs  !  yet  he  did  it  not.  Perhaps  in 
an  unhappy  life  he  has  paid  the  penalty  of  this  fault,  but 
it  is  an  insufficient  expiation.  When  our  history  shall 
sound  to  future  ages  like  the  murmur  of  a  distant  water- 
fall, and  our  undertakings  like  the  traces  of  an  extinct 
volcano,  and  our  language  an  object  of  wearisome  re- 
search to  the  learned,  surely  his  name  will  still  remain 
great,  like  the  summit  of  the  St.  Bernard  which  he  trav- 
ersed, which,  rising  immense,  is  lost  in  the  obscurity  of 
the  clouds  on  the  horizon  ;  but  the  memory  of  this  error 
or  crime  will  live  eternally  in  connection  with  his  name, 
for  it  is  not  such  as  can  be  forgotten  by  time  or  blotted 
out  by  repentance.  Now  his  virtues,  his  vices,  his  bones 
sleep  in  the  tomb.*  Let  us  not  lay  our  hand  too 
heavily  upon  the  great  one  who  lies  dead ;  but  we  can- 
not turn  our  thoughts  from  him  without  sighing.  "  Alas  ! 
thou  mightst  have  been  a  god,  and  hast  preferred  being 
a  scourge. — Who  can  rule  by  the  sword  after  thee  ?  " 

What  did  Nature  intend,  when  she  surrounded  us  with 
the  horrors  of  the  snows,  the  ruin  of  the  avalanche,  the 
fury  of  the  hurricane,  the  awfulness  of  the  solitude,  the 
precipices,  the  torrents  of  the  Alps  ?  Did  she  think  they 
were  a  sufficient  defence  against  the  fury  of  men  ?  Were 
it  not  better  to  instil  into  their  hearts  a  thought  of  peace  ? 
Would  the  perversity  of  the  "  dust  of  earth"  have  over- 
come the  foresight  of  Nature  ?  These  snows,  these  prec- 
ipices, were  conquered  by  those  who,  abandoning  without 
a  care  their  wives  and  relatives,  precipitated  themselves 
over  our  provinces,  raging  like  streams  of  fiery  lava. 
Here  they  oppressed ;  here  they  snatched  the  prey  with 

*  Didymi  Clerici  prophetae  minimi  vitia,  virtutes,  ossa,  hie  tan- 
dem conquiescere  ccepere. — Epitaph  of  Ugo  Foscolo. 


The  Traitor's  End.  145 

blood-stained  hand  ;  here  they  fell ;  now  the  rain  washes, 
the  wind  moves,  their  unturned,  dishonored,  unwept  bones. 
Miserable  dupes,  who  rejoicingly  rallied  round  the  stan- 
dard of  the  fierce  one  who  enticed  you  with  glory,  be- 
cause scorn  would  have  driven  you  from  him,  come  and 
see  in  what  your  glory  consists  !  Shameful  slaves  of  a 
single  man,  betrayed*  in  life  and  derided  in  death,  you  fell 
victims  before  the  idol  of  the  sword  whom  you  wor- 
shipped. They  oppressed  us,  while  here  "they  ate  the 
bread  of  wickedness  and  drank  the  wine  of  violence  ; " 
now  they  are  dead,  let  us  curse  them,  .  .  .  no,  .  .  .  old  in- 
juries have  been  avenged.*  Is  not  the  mocking  laugh  on 
the  lips  of  the  conqueror  a  bitter  torment  ?  Our  fathers 
made  others  endure  it  long,  we  feel  it  now  ;  time  ad- 
vances, the  implacable  and  just  redresser  of  wrongs. 
Long  did  we  remain  wicked  ;  had  we  continued  strong 
we  should  be  so  still;  but  courage  and  strength  failed  us, 
others  have  prevailed.  What  avails  lamentation  ? .  For 
Heaven's  sake,  let  us  not  murmur  at  any  one  but  at  our- 
selves, who,  first  to  offend,  slept  secure  on  the  couch  of 
injury.  The  offence,  however,  slumbered  not,  but  passed 
the  night  in  watching  for  vengeance,  and  sleep  fled  rag- 
ing before  the  inexorable  ones ;  at  our  awakening,  chains 
clanked  on  all  our  limbs.  Shame  to  the  imprudent  one, 
who  in  the  hour  of  danger  rested  in  careless  ease.  What 
avails  it  to  show  thy  rent  garment  ?  All  mock,  none  aid 
thee.  Even  oppression  has  its  greatness ;  dignity  re- 
mains with  the  conquered,  as  fear  with  the  conqueror. 
Raise  thy  head ;  advance  fearlessly ;  thus,  even  if  thou 
livest  without  honor,  thou  shalt  at  least  die  without  dis- 
grace, and  so  shall  the  Eternal  in  the  mysteries  of  ages 
weave  for  thy  distant  descendants  a  new  mantle  of  glory. 
Upon  the  side  of  the  Alps  which  slopes  towards 
France,  a  body  of  men,  desirous  of  reaching  the  sum- 
mit, were  laboriously  ascending.  As  the  broken 'and 
precipitous  paths,  the  danger  of  the  passes,  the  narrow- 
ness of  some  places,  did  not  allow  any  order  to  be  kept, 
the  army  of  Charles  advanced  in  detached  groups  of 

*  By  the  Sicilian  Vespers. 


146  The  Traitor's  End. 

twenty  or  more,  each  anxious  to  secure  their  own  safety, 
rather  than  that  of  the  mass.  Guy  de  Montfort,  the 
general-in-chief,  Robert,  Count  of  Flanders,  the  Count 
of  Vendamme,  Pierre  de  Bilmont,  the  Constable  Giles 
Lebrun,  Mirapoix,  the  Commissary  General,  Guillaume 
L'Etendard,  and  other  captains,  abandoning  their  colors, 
surrounded  the  litter  of  the  Countess  Beatrice,  borne  by 
two  hardy  mountaineers,  who,  from  time  to  time,  ex- 
hausted by  fatigue,  resigned  it  to  others,  who  immediately 
replaced  them.  The  air  blew  bitter  cold  ;  the  rocky 
path  was  broken  ;  the  labor  of  every  step  was  shown  by 
the  perspiration  which  fatigue  distilled  upon  their  brows ; 
often  they  stopped  looking  upwards  to  see  when  they 
should  reach  the  summit ;  but  the  mountain  concealed  its 
proud  head  among  the  gray  clouds  which  rested  upon  it  as 
upon  a  glorious  throne,  seeming  to  boast  itself  impassable 
to  mortal  foot,  and  to  laugh  at  mortal  weakness.  Once 
they  gave  a  shout,  but  the  noise  sounded  so  wild  among 
those  rugged  precipices,  it  echoed  so  frightfully  from 
those  unknown,  terrible  places,  that  they  dared  not  re- 
peat it ;  the  birds  of  prey  flew  screaming  from  their 
nests,  the  wolves  assembled  in  packs,  and  seeing  the 
multitude  more  numerous  and  more  ferocious  even  than 
themselves,  they  hid  quickly  among  the  bushes  of  the 
gloomy  valley.  They  climbed  over  rocks,  they  crossed 
torrents,  they  removed  snow,  trees,  stones  and  what- 
ever else  obstructed  their  path,  with  rare  courage  and 
perseverance ;  still,  from  time  to  time,  a  man  might 
be  seen,  exhausted  and  laboring  for  breath,  throwing 
himself  despairing  on  the  ground,  and  allowing  his  com- 
panions to  pass  him,  and  to  proceed  as  far  as  his  eyes 
could  follow  them  ;  but  when  he  lost  sight  of  them  in 
some  turn  of  the  mountain  path,  when  his  ear  no  longer 
heard  the  voice  of  living  men,  and  his  looks  wandered 
terror-struck  over  those  solitudes,  he  would  spring  trem- 
bling to  his  feet,  and  hasten,  as  best  he  might,  to  rejoin 
them  :  in  another  place  might  be  seen  a  horse  slipping 
on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  and  dragging  down  with  him 
the  soldier,  who,  carefully  examining  the  road,  is  leading 
him  with  the  bridle  twisted  around  his  arm ;  not  know- 


The  Traitor's  End.  147 

ing  how  to  save  himself  he  grasps  his  neighbor,  who  in 
turn  seizes  another,  and  he  another  still  ;  thus,  all  to 
gether  fall  in  a  body  down  the  abyss ;  a  sharp  scream  is 
heard,  followed  by  a  deathlike  silence,  for  the  place 
where  they  lie  mangled  is  beyond  the  reach  of  mortal 
ear.  More  recently  and  with  far  greater  danger,  soldiers 
of  iron,  protected  by  the  genius  of  a  brave  captain, 
crossed  the  St.  Bernard  and  Spluga.  In  vain  did  the  ar- 
tillery and  the  incumbrances  that  modern  warfare  de- 
mand, impede  their  march ;  in  vain  the  hurricane  of  the 
Alps,  the  avalanches,  the  fury  of  the  unchained  elements. 
They  conquered,  and  left  an  example  of  an  undertaking, 
that,  as  long  as  man  is  clothed  in  flesh,  can  never  be  sur- 
passed ;  wherefore  the  good  historian  *  said,  "  that  it  was 
performed  by  giants,  rather  than  by  men." 

But  if  storms  and  artillery  did  not  delay  the  army  of  the 
Count  of  Provence,  he  encountered  the  same  dangerous 
snows,  the  slippery  paths,  the  rocks,  the  precipices,  the 
cliffs.  In  both  armies,  more  than  one  soldier,  grasping 
his  comrade  tightly,  felt  the  fearful  pleasure  of  gazing 
down  at  the  horrors  of  the  abyss,  and  so  great  was  the 
awe  which  filled  his  spirit,  that  drawing  back  hastily,  he 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  muttering  a  prayer.  In  both 
armies  more  than  one,  looking  back  towards  his  home, 
thought  of  his  beloved  children  with  a  sigh,  cursing  the 
ambition  of  the  man  who  led  a  nation  from  one  land  to 
die  in  another.  They  go  on  sad  and  silent,  looking  anxi- 
ously around  to  avoid  in  time  any  evil  that  might  happen 
to  them.  Their  thoughts  are  fierce  and  cruel,  as  nature 
prompts,  when  man  is  forced  by  all-powerful  necessity 
to  think  of  himself  alone.  Now,  as  they  advance,  they 
reach  a  spot  where  the  mountain,  rising  perpendicularly, 
offers  no  access  except  to  wings;  the  foremost,  pressed 
on  by  those  behind,  are  crushed  confusedly  against  it ; 
urged  on  in  vain,  they  impart  from  band  to  band,  even 
to  the  most  distant,  that  involuntary  immobility. 

"  Were  there  no  graves  in  France  tltat  they  have  brought 
us  away  to  die  on  these  barren  mountains  ?  Where  is  Count 

*  Botta,  History  of  Italy,  chap.  20. 


148  The  Traitor's  End. 

de  Montfort  ?  Let  the  count  come  and  lead  us  back  to 
our  homes,"  cried  the  exasperated  people.  "  Let  us  re- 
turn then,"  cried  the  count  angrily ;  "  since  it  is  your 
pleasure,  let  us  return  ;  we  have  been  three  days  upon 
the  road,  and  are  already  near  the  end,  where  our  friends 
of  Monferrato  have  prepared  resting-places  and  food  to 
refresh  us.  The  provisions  which  we  have  left  will  hardly 
last  one  day  longer  ;  we  shall  die  on  the  way  of  hunger 
and  cold  ;  but  what  matter  ?  let  us  return.  Perhaps  even 
now,  amidst  the  applause  of  Rome,  Monseigneur  Charles, 
the  most  holy  pope,  the  Italians,  are  watching  for  us  ; 
but  let  their  hope  in  us  be  betrayed,  let  our  cowardice  be 
apparent  to  the  whole  people.  Our  ancestors,  led  by 
Charlemagne,  crossed  these  very  Alps,  though  fortified 
by  men,  and  defended  by  the  entire  nation  ;  happy  was 
he,  for  destiny  called  .him  to  lead  the  brave  !  Let  us 
their  degenerate  children  fly  from  them,  although  no  one 
disputes  with  us  their  passage.  Let  us  return  to  France, 
to  our  brothers,  who,  with  unparalleled  constancy,  over- 
came such  great  dangers  in  Palestine,  and  won  a  prize 
of  splendid  glory  ;  let  us  return  and  restore  the  colors 
given  to  us  by  our  ladies,  and  honored  by  such  illustrious 
undertakings.  I  shall  never  go  back  there,  for  I  should 
fear  lest  every  one  who  met  me  in  the  street,  should 
point  me  out  to  his  companion,  and  say,  '  Behold  the 
brave  man  who  was  unable  to  cross  the  mountain  ! ' 
Let  us  thus  imitate  our  brave  sovereign,  who,  with  twenty 
galleys,  set  sail  with  the  chance  of  encountering  the 
eighty  of  the  heretic  Manfred ;  thus  let  us  keep  our  faith 
with  him.  Truly,  this  is  the  way  which  leads  to  immor- 
tality, this  is  the  means  whereby  we  shall  merit  the  holy 
indulgence  which  the  pope  with  so  great  liberality  has 
granted  us  ;  this  is  the  performance  of  the  vow  you  made 
in  presence  of  his  legates  when  you  undertook  the 
crusade.  Think,  you  are  now  in  presence  of  men  and  of 
God.  Our  names  will  be  immortalized,  for  dishonor  will 
take  care  to  preserve  them  as  monuments  of  shame. 
The  golden  lily  is  tarnished,  honor  is  lost.  I  here  break 
my  sword,  and  swear  on  the  faith  of  a  knight  never  to 
bear  arms  again.  Let  us  go  to  meet  disgrace  and  de- 


The  Traitor's  End.  149 

spair,  since  you  reject  glory  and  safety."  This,  and 
much  beside,  said  the  Count  de  Montfort,  part  of  which 
was  not  listened  to,  and  part  lost  in  the  howling  of  the 
wind  and  the  noise  of  the  multitude.  They  were  on  the 
point  of  turning  back,  when  the  Countess  Beatrice,  a 
high-spirited  woman,  rising  on  her  litter,  commanded  her 
mountaineers  to  stand  on  some  horses,  and  raise  her  as 
high  as  they  could.  By  this  means  she  succeeded  in 
mounting  the  cliff,  which  was  about  twelve  feet  high,  and 
there,  as  on  a  throne,  she  took  the  veil  from  her  head 
and  waved  it  in  triumph.  "  Long  live  the  Countess ! 
Long  live  the  Lady,"  cried  the  people,  in  a  frenzy  of 
delight.  "  Long  live  the  Countess  Beatrice  ! "  and 
hastened  with  wonderful  zeal  to  attempt  to  follow  her. 
The  stronger  climbing  on  the  shoulders  of  the  weaker, 
and  clinging  with  hands  and  feet,  reached  the  top  ;  many 
slipped,  and  unable  to  recover  themselves,  rolled  down 
upon  the  heads  of  their  companions,  apparently  ex- 
hausted ;  those  who  accomplished  the  feat  offered  their 
hands,  belts,  lances  or  anything  they  could  to  those  be- 
hind them  :  and  thus,  after  a  weary  hour,  about  two  hun- 
dred succeeded  in  scaling  the  ascent,  but  it  was  with  un- 
imaginable noise,  confusion  and  fury.  Those  who  had 
placed  themselves  under  one  climber  were  in  a  few  mo- 
ments oppressed  by  a  hundred,  and  sought  in  vain  to 
free  themselves  from  their  uncomfortable  position  ;  infu- 
riated by  resistance,  they  began  to  deal  blows,  and  find- 
ing those  unavailing  they  had  recourse  to  their  swords  ; 
the  nearest  tried  hard  to  draw  back,  and  their  blows  and 
thrusts  against  those  who  were  pushing  them  on  were  nu- 
merous; still,  urged  on  by  those  who  did  not  see  what 
was  the  matter,  they  were  again  thrown  forward,  and 
those  behind,  advancing,  fell  in  their  turn  upon  the  fallen  : 
and  thus  they  lay,  in  piles,  on  each  other ;  many  rose, 
bruised  and  wounded ;  many  rose  no  more.  Count 
Guy,  seeing  that  this  way  of  mounting  the  height  pro- 
duced more  harm  than  good,  shouted  to  them  to  stop, 
butyi  vain ;.  therefore  he  commanded  the  knights  who 
surrounded  him  to  beat  back  the  frenzied  people  with 
their  swords.  Thus  by  the  death  and  wounding  of  a  few, 


150  The  Traitor's  End. 

they  succeeded  in  obtaining  some  degree  of  quiet.  Then, 
making  them  heap  up  rocks  and  earth  against  the'  face 
of  the  cliff,  and  animating  them  by  .voice  and  example, 
in  four  hours  he  had  constructed  a  road  over  which,  with 
some  difficulty,  passed  the  horses,  knights,  baggage-wag- 
ons, cars,  and  whatever  else  there  was.  When  night 
came,  the  fear  that  had  hitherto  kept  them  apart  now 
drew  them  together,  and  they  remained  quiet  where  they 
were.  Although  the  position  they  then  occupied  was 
not  dangerous,  their  imaginations  were  so  filled  with 
thoughts  of  precipices  and  ruins,  that,  in  the  darkness, 
they  dared  not  stir  hand  or  foot. 

Morning  dawned.  No  perfume  of  flowers,  no  song  of 
birds,  greeted  it  among  those  solitary  rocks  :  but  the  peaks 
of  the  Alps,  tinged  with  a  brilliant  orange,  and  standing 
out  clear  against  the  blue  horizon,  now  perfectly  free  from 
clouds,  were  majestic  and  at  the  same  time  beautiful 
objects.  With  the  eagerness  of  those  about  to  attain  a 
desired  end,  the  French  set  forward  :  at  first  they  moved 
slowly,  as  if  benumbed  by  cold,  but  motion  gradually  in- 
ducing warmth,  they  were  able  to  advance  more  rapidly. 
Inspiring  was  the  sight  of  that  hurrying,  bustlin'g  multitude, 
the  glittering  of  the  helmets,  spears  and  armor  of  the 
knights,  the  pennants  streaming  in  the  wind,  the  costly 
dresses ;  more  inspiring  was  the  clash  of  the  trumpets 
resounding  from  time  to  time,  the  spirited  war-songs,  the 
cries  of  joy  :  it  seemed  an  assemblage  of  knights  met  to 
celebrate  some  solemn  day  ;  a  festival  easier  to  imagine 
than  to  describe.  They  reach  the  summit  :  their  eyes, 
sparkling  with  the  eager  hope  of  acquisition,  glance  over 
the  country  spread  out  beneath  them,  and  as  far  as  sight 
extends,  to  the  distant  horizon.  Truth  to  tell,  only  the 
eastern  edge  of  Italy  can  .be  perceived  from  that  point ; 
but  so  deeply  were  their  minds  impressed  by  the  horrors 
through  which  they  had  passed,  so  brilliant  were  the  hopes 
and  fancies  that  glowed  in  their  imaginations,  excited  by 
the  accounts  they  had  heard,  that  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  looking  upon  the  terrestrial  Paradise,  which  the 
Eternal  prepared  for  sinless  creatures.  Then  they  raised 
their  arms  to  heaven,  crying  :  "Italy  !  Italy  !  "  This  cry 


The  Traitor's  End.  151 

was  caught  up  through  the  ranks,  lind  the  most  distant  re- 
peated, "  Italy  !  "  Now  indeed  there  was  a  stir,  a  hasten- 
ing ;  the  voices  of  the  captains  were  unheard,  blows  were 
/unheeded  :  pushing,  crushing,  using  hands  and  feet,  they 
strove  who  should  first  reach  it.  Truly  the  descent  seemed 
no  less  frightful  than  the  ascent.  But  who  that  could  enjoy 
the  sight  of  beautiful  things  would  wish  to  sadden  himself 
by  the  contemplation  of  the  mournful  !  They  saw  flowery 
fields,  meadows  blessed  by  Heaven  ;  that  was  the  end 
of  the  journey,  of  the  path  that  led  they  knew  not  whither. 
There  they  hoped  to  find  food  and  rest  for  present  need : 
there  lands,  wealth,  and  whatever  else  could  render  life 
happy.  Already  they  supposed  themselves  masters  of  it. 
They  had  conquered  Nature,  they  gave  no  thought  to  men. 
Unhappy  ones  !  There  they  would  have  found  a  tomb,  if 
fate  had  committed  the  defence  of  it  to  men,  ....  either 
more  brave — or  more  united,  ...  or  less  infamous. 


As  we  are  sure  that  no  one  will  read  these  pages, 
whether  they  be  good  or  bad,  to  learn  geography,  we 
advise  our  reader  not  to  be  astonished  if  we  suddenly 
transport  Rogiero  from  a  forest  of  Terra  di  Lavoro  to 
Mirandola,  formerly  a  very  strong  castle  of  Romagna,  a 
distance  of  several  hundred  -miles.  The  reason  of  his 
going  thither  was,  that  from  thence  Parma  could  be 
easily  and  quickly  reached,  and  the  report  was  that  the 
army  of  Charles  was  to  take  that  route.  Our  hero,  as  he 
advanced,  felt  such  an  increasing  repugnance  to  go  further, 
that  day  by  day  he  had  travelled  more  slowly.  That 
name  of  traitor  often  sounded  in  his  ear  like  a  cry  of 
alarm;  the  words  of  Ghino. still  disturbed  him  deeply.. 
He  thought  to  himself: — "  With  the  lofty  purpose  of  over- 
coming dangers,  both  of  earth  and  heaven,  of  avenging  my 
father,  and  of  recovering  what  has  been  taken  from  me 
by  the  blackest  treachery,  I  have  undertaken  labors  under 
which  most  men  would  have  sunk'.  I  thought  to  win 
greatness,  and  my  hope  is  degenerated,  not  only  into 
nothingness,  but  into  dishonor  ! " — Oh,  the  anguish  of  a 
mind  condemned  to  feel  nobly,  and  to  find  in  external 
objects  only  weakness  or  crime.  Ghino,  whose  life  he 


152  The  Traitor's  End. 

had  saved,  and  who,  from  his  position  in  life,  must  neces- 
sarily be  rather  unscrupulous  as  regards  precepts  of  honor, 
had  pitied  him  :  what  would  those  have  done  who  were 
under  no  obligations  to  him,  and  who  professed  to  love 
their  country,  and  to  practise  the  precepts  of  honor  ?  An 
insupportable  weight  hung  heavy  on  his  heart.  Thus, 
saddling  his  horse  a  hundred  times,  and  as  often  putting 
him  back  into  the  stable,  he  passed  two  days  at  Mirandola. 
Shut  up  in  his  own  room,  with  his  head  bowed  upon  his 
knees,  he  lamented  his  cruel  fate  ;  and  as  whenever  we 
are  in  trouble  we  all  turn  to  God,  he  often  implored 
Heaven  to  assist  and  guide  him.  In  the  second  night  of 
his  stay,  while  tossing  from  side  to  side,  he  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  call  sleep  to  his  eyes,  he  heard  a  noise  as  of 
something  moving  softly  through  the  room.  He  listened, 
thinking  that  he  must  be  mistaken  ;  perceiving  that-  it 
was  no  delusion  of  his  imagination,  he  demanded  in  a 
clear  voice,  "  Who  is  there  ?  "  The  reply  came  in  a  faint, 
almost  inaudible  tone,  as  if  from  a  disembodied  spirit, 
"  Remember  your  father" — "  Who  are  you  who  know  rny 
secret  ?"  cried  Rogiero,  starting  up  in  his  bed.  "  Come, 
angel  or  demon,  you  will  be  welcome  ;  counsel  me  whether 
for  perdition  or  salvation ;  counsel  me,  for  my  soul  can- 
not counsel  itself." 

No  reply,  no  further  noise.  Rogiero  fell  back  upon  the 
bed,  and  the  crowd  of  past  events  rose  before  his  mind 
like  a  terrible  vision  ;  and  when,  towards  morning,  sleep 
closed  his  weary  eyes,  his  dreams  were  such  as  a  man 
may  have  upon  the  pillow  of  revenge. 

In  the  morning  he  arose,  pale,  miserable,  with  haggard 
eyes,  and  went  down  to  pay  the  landlord.  Just  as  he  en- 
tered the  room,  a  man,  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  came  in  by 
the  street  door,  whom  the  landlord  immediately  addressed, 
saying  :  "  Good-day  to  you,  Master  Lippo ;  you  look  as 
if  you  had  been  riding  all  night.  What  news  do  you  bring 
from  up  there  ?  " 

"  The  Ghibellines  are  leaving  the  environs  of  Parma 
without  fighting,  for  the  army  of  the  count  has  taken  an- 
other route  ;  they  say  that  it  is  advancing  by  way  of 
Milan,  having  for  a  guide  that  gallows-bird,  Napoleone 


The  Traitor's  End.  153 

della  Torre,  but  here  or  there,  thorns  are  sown  on  their 
road." 

"  Why,  who  is  there  who  could  resist  him  on  the  road 
to  Milan  ?  There  are  no  Ghibellines  in  that  part  of  the 
country  ?" 

"  There  are  both  Bianchi  and  Neri,*  my  good  Giacomo, 
for  if  all  were  alike  the  world  would  come  to  a  standstill. 
There  is  the  Marquis  Pelavicino,  who  is  an  adherent  of 
Manfred — he  is  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pavia ;  Buoso 
da  Duera  in  that  of  Cremona,  and  Mastino  della  Scala  in 
that  of  Verona.  Truly  you  can  judge  whether  they  will 
let  him  pass  without  paying  toll.  So  be  it.  What  is  there, 
Giacomo,  by  way  of  breakfast,  for  a  poor  Ghibelline  ?  " 

Rogiero,  as  anxious  to  go  now  as  yesterday  he  had 
been  to  remain,  paid  the  innkeeper,  saddled  his  horse,  and 
left  Mirandola.  On  the  way  he  learned  that  the  French, 
instead  of  taking  the  most  direct  road,  that  from  Asti  to 
Parma,  were  advancing  by  way  of  Cremona  ;  eager  to 
reach  them,  he  turned  his  horse  in  the  direction  of  the 
Po.  When  he  arrived  at  Lugara,  though  the  sun  was  still 
high  and  the  boat  ready  to  cross  the  river,  the  same 
hesitation  took  possession  of  him  as  had  detained  him 
at  Mirandola  ;  the  image  of  his  father  was  faint,  and  that 
repugnance  to  undertake  a  thing  so  hateful  to  him,  and 
that  word,  traitor,  returned  to  disturb  his  soul.  In  the 
silence  of  the  night,  upon  his  solitary  bed,  he  vainly 
sought  relief  from  his  uneasiness  ;  he  seemed  to  be  grop- 
ing along  in  some  dark  place,  where  the  longer  he  wan- 
dered, the  more  he  went  astray.  In  the  morning,  when 
he  awoke,  he  perceived  a  slip  of  paper  in  his  right  hand  ; 
wondering  he  went  to  the  window,  and  in  the  faint  light 
of  dawn  he  read,  "  Remember  your  father  /" 

This  reminder  produced  in  his  mind  an  effect  like  that 
of  tearing  the  bandage  from  a  half-healed  wound.  Passion 
overcame  reason,  and  more  fiercely  than  ever  he  resumed 
his  former  purpose.  He  crossed  the  Po,  passed  Casal 
Maggicre  and  Rovara,  nor  slackened  his  speed  till  he 

*  The  Ghibellines  were  divided  into  two  parties,  called  Blacks  and 
Whites. 

7* 


154  The  Traitor's  End. 

approached  Cremona.  He  had  nearly  reached  it,  the 
end  of  his  journey  was  at  hand,  and  now  he  wished  it 
more  remote.  He  inquired  of  every  one  he  met,  and 
those  who  told  him  that  the  distance  still  to  travel  was 
short,  he  passed  in  silence,  cursing  them  in  his  heart ; 
those  who  affirmed  that  it  was  still-  far  off,  he  pleasantly 
bade  God-speed.  Thus  doubtful  whether  to  go  forward 
or  to1  turn  back,  and  still  drawn  on  by  fate,  he  found 
himself  one  day,  just  before  vespers,  between  San  Daniele 
and  Cicognolo,  towns  not  very  far  from  Cremona. 
Absorbed  in  thought,  he  dropped  the  bridle  on  his  horse's 
neck  ;  suddenly,  as  he  raised  his  head  to  look  at  the 
beautiful  houses  that  were  visible  through  the  branches 
of  the  trees,  he  found  himself  surrounded  by  a  troop  of 
more  than  twenty  horsemen,  the  leader  of  whom  com- 
manded Rogiero  to  follow  him. 

"  Know,"  cried  Rogiero,  drawing  his  sword,  for  his 
spear  was  useless,  the  men  being  so  near — "know  that 
no  one  crosses  my  path,  except  by  force  and  at  the  risk 
of  his  life."  , 

"  Sir  Knight,"  replied  the  captain,  "  God  forbid  that 
we  should  use  violence  toward  you ;  our  master,  Buoso 
da  Duera,  sent  us  to  meet  you,  and  to  lead  you  to  where 
he  is.  May  it  please  you  to  follow  us,  for  we  do  not 
wish  to  do  you  any  injury." 

"  And  how  does  your  master  know  of  me  ?  " 

"  Ycrti  will  learn  that  of  himself.  Are  you  not  a  Nea- 
politan knight  ?  Have  you  not  letters  to  deliver  to  him  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  have." 

"  Come  then,  for  you  are  expected." 

Although  Rogiero  had  peculiar  views,  for  the  time  in 
which  he  lived,  yet  both  by  his  natural  disposition,  and 
from  the  adventures  which  had  befallen  him,  he  was 
convinced  that  there  was  a  destiny  which  governed  all  his 
actions  ;  that  he  might  indeed,  for  a  time,  struggle  against 
it,  but  that,  willing  or  not,  he  must  eventually  yield  to  it. 
Induced  by  this  feeling,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  con- 
ducted unresistingly  by  those  horsemen,  who,  riding 
leisurely  that  they  might  not  irritate  him,  arrived  late  in 
the  night  at  a  castle,  which,  as  well  as  he  could  see  in 


The  Traitor's  End.  155 

the  uncertain  light,  seemed  of  great  strength.  Around 
the  castle  were  pitched  a  number  of  tents,  whence  trooped 
a  multitude  of  soldiers  all  going  in  one  direction ;  a  bell 
was  sounding  incessantly  to  assemble  them,  and  at  a 
short  distance  was  heard  the  calling  of  the  rolls,  the 
assignment  of  the  posts,  and  the  issuing  of  orders.  When 
they  reached  the  gate,  a  sentinel,  who  was  pacing  to  and 
fro  with  his  halbert  on  his  shoulder,  stopped  suddenly 
and  demanded  : 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  Long  live  the  Ghibellines  !  "  replied  the  captain. 

"  Approach  and  give  the  countersign." 

The  captain  advanced,  and  whispered  a  word  in  his 
ear,  then  turning  to  his  band  said  :  "  Forward." 

Traversing  extensive  cloisters,  they  finally  reach  an 
old  court-yard,  where  under  the  colonnade  appear  a 
number  of  troopers,  some  of  whom  are  amusing  them- 
selves with  chess  or  hazard,  some  drinking  deeply,  and 
conversing  and  gesticulating  violently.  Here,  three  or 
four  are  trying  to  join  in  a  song,  but  at  the  very  first 
notes,  some  one  of  them  sings  false,  and  they  begin 
again  ;  there,  a  few  are  sitting  with  closed  eyes,  and  their 
heads  gradually  fall  on  their  breasts ;  they  start  from  their 
momentary  slumbers,  only  to  nod  again  ;  others,  entirely 
overcome  by  sleep,  have  crossed  their  arms  upon  the 
tables,  and  resting  their  heads  upon  them  are  snoring  so 
loudly  as  to  be  heard  to  a  great  distance.  Some  are 
doing  one  thing,  some  another,  for  it  would  take  too  long 
to  describe  them  all.  Ii*  short,  those  countenances,  par- 
tially illuminated  by  a  reddish  light,  those  gestures,  those 
threatening  and  varied  aspects,  would  have  furnished  a 
subject  to  the  Fleming  for  a  wonderful  picture. 

No  sooner  had  the  captain  made  his  appearance,  than 
there  arose  from  all  sides  a  tumult  of  voices  crying  : 
"  Good-evening — welcome, — have  you  had  good  sport, 
captain  ?  Did  you  catch  your  man  ?  Tell  us  about  it, 
Piero.  Come  here,  you  may  take  my  place  ;  Piero,  will 
you  make  a  fourth  ;  we  cannot  begin  our  game  without 
you.  Here,  Piero,  take  a  glass  of  wine ;  you  must  want 
it." 


156  The  Traitor's  End. 

"  Thanks,  Malatolta ;  thanks,  Prencliparte ;  thanks, 
thanks,  sirs  ;  I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment,"  cried  the 
guide  of  our  hero,  first  distinguishing  each  one  by  his 
name  and  surname,  and  then  saluting  all  promiscuously, 
as  if  to  give  the  lie  to  that  philosopher  *  who  declared 
that  external  objects  strike  the  human  mind  at  first  in- 
distinctly, then  gradually  -grow  clear,  and  thus  unite 
the  analytical  examination  with  its  opposite,  the  synthet- 
ical, with  a  hundred  other  graceful  trifles,  which  have 
been  set  in  our  brains  at  school,  as  stones  are  set  in  a 
ring. 

The  captain,  dismounting,  hurried  Rogiero,  who  ear- 
nestly recommended  Allah  to  his  care,  to  the  part  of  the 
castle  opposite  that  by  which  they  had  entered.  Looking 
up  at  the  upper  windows,  and  seeing  a  light,  he  muttered, 
as  if  in  haste  to  be  at  liberty  :  "  Now  he  can  just  as  well 
go  by  himself;"  and  as  they  reached  the  threshold  of  a 
little  door  he  added,  "  Sir  Knight.  Messer  Buoso  is  cer- 
tainly in  his  room,  for  I  saw  a  light  shining  there.  You 
can  easily  find  him  without  my  accompanying  you.  Mount 
these  stairs,  which  will  lead  you  to  a  landing-place  where 
three  corridors  meet :  take  the  first  one  to  the  left ;  when 
you  reach  the  end  of  it,  turn  to  the  right  and  you  will 
find  six  steps  ;  be  careful  not  to  stumble  as  you  ascend 
them,  and  the  Lord  help  you.  You  will  then  see  a  large 
hall  with  five  doors  in  it  ;  the  one  just  opposite  you  is  the 
door  of  Messer  Buoso's  room  ;  good-night."  Hardly 
stopping  to  finish  the  sentence,  which  he  uttered  with 
amazing  rapidity,  he  ran  to  joifi  his  companions,  who 
greeted  him  with  shouts  and  laughter,  and  other  marks  of 
intemperate  joy. 

Rogiero  ascended  the  staircase.  It  was  made  of  bricks  ; 
time  had  worn  away  the  edges  and  the  cement,  leaving 
depressions  nearly  large  enough  to  receive  the  foot. 
Constantly  in  danger  of  falling,  groping,  supporting  him- 
self more  by  his  hands  than  by  his  feet,  he  reached  the 
entrance  of  the  three  corridors,  illuminated  by  a  dim  lamp 

*  Condillac,  Logica  in  princ. 


The  Traitor's  End.  157 

which  seemed  extinguished,  as  that  whimsical  Florentine 
said.* 

Here  a  sudden  tremor  seized  him  ;  he  tried  to  go  for-i 
ward,  he  could  not ;  back,  equally  impossible  ;  he  leaned 
against  the  wall,  as  if  turned  to  stone.  New  doubts,  new 
hesitations ;  another  step,  and  he  is  irreparably  lost ;  his 
intentions  are  good,  but  supported  by  deeds  partly  mean, 
partly  dishonorable,  all  wicked.  If  he  does  not  succeed 
in  accomplishing  them  who  will  believe  that  his  design 
was  generous  ?  There  will  not  always  be  darkness,  as 
in  that  place,  nor  can  treachery  be  always  concealed. 
While  he  thus  delayed,  thinking  of  these  things,  he  felt  a 
hand  lightly  laid  upon  his  head,  and  a  soft  voice  murmur- 
ed in  his  ear  :  "  Remember  your  father  !  " 

"Santa  Maria  I"  exclaimed  Rogiero;  and  turning 
quickly,  he  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  in  the  corridor  op- 
posite, a  phantom  gliding  away  from  him.  Impelled  by 
an  unconquerable  desire  to  know  what  it  was,  he  followed 
it  at  his  utmost  speed.  He  passed  through  that  corridor, 
then  through  another,  the  spectre  still  keeping  a  few 
paces  in  advance,  though  he  did  not  hear  a  footfall.  Al- 
though these  circumstances  were  more  than  sufficient  in 
those  times,  and  perhaps  even  in  our  own,  to  make  him 
believe  this  apparition  supernatural,  Rogiero  did  not 
allow  himself  to  be  influenced  by  fear  ;  although  in  truth 
he  did  not  know  how  to  explain  it,  he  was  careful  not  to 
attribute  it  to  supernatural  causes.  The  spectre  retreat- 
ing and  Rogiero  pursuing,  they  reached  a  place  where 
there  was  no  light ;  thus  it  was  perfectly  easy  for  the  for- 
mer to  disappear.  Rogiero,  groping,  wishyig,  in  spite  of 

*  Al  romor  del  tracollo 
Che  rimbombo  dal  tetto  al  fondamento, 
Comparve  un  lumicin  che  parea  spento, 
Si  facea  lurne  a  stento. 

SONETTO  DEL  MiGLiORUCCl,  Barbiere  Florentine. 

From  the  roof,  through  the  floor  and  the  wall, 
When  resounded  the  noise  of  the  fall, 
In  the  distance  a  lamp  faintly  gleamed, 
So  dim,  that  extinguished  it  seemed. 

M.  G.  M. 


158  The  Traitor's  End. 

the  darkness,  to  follow,  stumbled  and  fell  over  a  couch  ; 
then  neither  hearing  nor  seeing  anything,  he  endeavored  to 
return.  Thinking  that  he  was  retracing  his  steps,  he  passed 
through  two  or  three  rooms,  in  the  last  of  which  he  per- 
ceived a  ray  of  light  shining  through  the  chink  of  a 
door  ;  he  immediately  went  towards  it,  thinking  that  it 
came  from  the  light  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  He  reached 
it,  opened  it,  and  found  himself  in  an  immense  room.  A 
very  small  part  of  it  was  lighted,  the  rest  being  lost  in  the 
deepest  shadow.  Judging  by  what  he  saw  of  it,  it  was 
hung  with  beautiful  Flemish  tapestries,  representing  hunts 
or  the  most  renowned  warlike  exploits  of  the  Paladins  of 
Charlemagne  or  of  the  knights-errant  of  King  Arthur. 
At  equal  distances  on  one  side,  and  probably  around  the 
whole  room,  were  arranged  suits  of  ancient  armor,  sup- 
ported by  lances  resting  in  stone  sockets.  The  win- 
dows, receiving  their  light  from  the  court-yard,  showed 
scenes  taken  from  the  New  Testament,  formed  from 
glass  of  a  thousand  different  tints.  These  things,  which 
we  have  required  half  a  page  to  describe,  Rogiero  saw  at 
a  glance  ;  nor  indeed  did  he  stop  to  observe  them,  for 
they  were  common  in  those  times.  His  attention  was 
more  particularly  attracted  by  two  persons  who  were  in 
the  room.  One  of  these,  of  foreign  dress  and  appear- 
ance, was  a  French  courier,  dressed  in  a  yellow  doublet, 
reaching  nearly  to  his  knees,  fastened  round  his  waist  by 
a  broad  leather  belt,  from  which  hung  his  horn  and  dag- 
ger ;  his  breeches  were  of  the  same  material  as  his 
doublet,  and  like  it,  fitting  closely  ;  he  wore  boots  of  red 
leather,  with  s^jurs  adapted  rather  for  stabbing  than  for 
urging  a  horse  ;  his  head  was  uncovered  ;  his  hair,  parted 
in  the  middle,  fell  down  on  either  side  to  his  ears,  grow- 
ing gradually  longer  till  at  the  back  it  reached  to  his 
shoulders ;  his  face  said  nothing — it  was  a  blank  surface. 
Very  different  seemed  the  second  :  he  was  seated  before 
a  table  upon  which  were  papers  and  a  sword  ;  his  head 
was  resting  on  his  hand,  and  he  appeared  to  be  reflecting 
upon  a  letter  which  apparently  he  had  just  received.  His 
head  was  bald,  the  skin  smooth,  with  the  exception  of 


The  Traitor's  End.  159 

two  or  three  wrinkles  deeply  furrowing  his  forehead  ;  his 
face  was  broad  at  the  cheek  bones,  which  anatomists  call 
the  zygomatic  process,  but  thin  and  sharp  towards  the  chin, 
with  the  beard  shamefully  neglected.  As  to  the  rest  of 
his  person,  with  the  exception  of  the  gauntlets,  he  was 
fully  armed  ;  after  he  had  pondered  for  some  time  over 
the  letter,  h»  exclaimed,  "  Eight  thousand  golden  flo- 
rins !  I  would  sell  my  soul  too  for  it." 

After  this  shocking  impiety,  he  raised  his  eyes — what 
eyes  !  cavernous,  glittering  like  those  of  a  fox  which 
has  seized  the  prey — and  saw  Rogiero. 

'•  Who  are  you  ?  Who  brought  you  here  ?  How  did 
you  obtain  entrance  into  my  room  ?" 

"  My  lord,  I  have  been  brought  here  by  order  of  a 
certain  Buoso  da  Duera." 

"  By  mine  then, — but  how  happens  it  that  you  did  not 
come  in  by  the  principal  door,  instead  of  entering  unex- 
pectedly from  a  private  apartment  ?  " 

"  What  could  I  know  of  it,  my  lord  ?  I  was  left 
without  escort,  and  in  this  strange  place.  I  find  myself 
here,  because  I  am  not  anywhere  else." 

"  Some  one  has  disobeyed  my  orders.  You  are  per- 
haps that  Neapolitan  knight  ?  " 

"  I  am.  Your  men  stopped  me  on  the  road,  com- 
pelling me  ..." 

"It  was  necessary  to  compel  you.  Good  heavens! 
You  have  letters  for  me  which  you  probably  would  never 
have  brought  me." 

"  And  who  told  you,  my  lord  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Whoever  told  me  could  say  it  without  much  fear  of 
lying.     Was  Piero  the  captain  who  brought  you  here  ?  " 
'  "  Yes,  Piero." 

"  And  he  stayed  ?  " 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  in  the  court-yard,  to  play  and 
drink  with  his  companions." 

"  He  must  be  punished.  It  is  sufficient  to  write  great 
faults  on  the  tablets  of  memory,  but  little  ones  must  be 
noted  down  that  they  may  not  be  forgotten  ;  a  fault 
passed  over  is  an  invitation  to  crime."  And  here  Buoso 
drew  some  tablets  from  his  breast,  upon  one  of  which  he 


160  The  Traitor's  End. 

wrote  :  "  Captain  Piero  has  incurred  a  penalty  for  trans- 
gressing my  commands."  And  putting  them  back  he 
added,  "  Before  the  end  of  the  month  he  must  pay  it 
either  secretly  or  openly.  Sir  Knight,  will  you  please  to 
give  me  the  letters  you  have  for  me  ?  " 

"  Here  they  are." 

"  Knight,"  said  Buoso,  when  he  had  read-them,  "I  per- 
ceive by  these  that  a  great  number  of  Neapolitan  nobles, 
weary  of  Manfred's  tyranny,  have  sent  you  with  their  cre- 
dentials to  offer  homage  to  the  Count  of  Provence.  It  is 
hot  the  will  of  God  that  I  should  oppose  any  obstacle  to 
the  reasonable  wishes  of  these  valiant  lords.  To-inor- 
row  you  may  pursue  your  way  to  the  French  army,  which 
you  will  find  not  far  from  here,  encamped  in  the  country. 
I  should  warn  you,  however,  that  the  count  does  not  ac- 
company the  army,  but  you  will  find  in  his  stead  the 
Countess  Beatrice  and  the  general-in-chief,  Guy  de 
Montfort." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord  Buoso,  but  will  you  be 
kind  enough  to  answer  a  question  ?  " 

"Ask  on." 

"  Are  you  not  a  Ghibelline  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  Guelph  or  Ghibelline  ?  I  am 
for  myself.  I  care  no  more  for  the  name  than  for  the  color 
of  my  dress ;  for  my  part,  I  follow  fortune." 

"  But  have  you  not  hitherto  fought  for  the  Ghibellines  ?  " 

"  I  repeat  that  I  always  fight  for  myself.  It  is  true 
that  last  year  I  assisted  Count  Giordano,  who  joined 
Manfred  here  in  Lombardy,  with  five  hundred  lances  ;  my 
only  reward  consisted  in  words,  sometimes  courteous, 
sometimes  threatening.  Every  man  may  err  once  in  his 
life,  and  happy  is  he  who  can  boast  of  having  erred  only 
once  ;  now  I  am  tired  of  living  upon  promises  ;  and  then 
age  is  coming  upon  me,  and  I  must  begin  to  think  of 
death.  If  others  do  not  care,  I  do  for  the  pardon  of  the 
Holy  Church  ;  and  I  am  anxious  to  be  absolved  from  ex- 
communication, that  when  it  pleases  God  to  call  me  to 
Himself,  I  may  be  buried' in  consecrated  ground." 

"  My  lord,  I  pray,  if  the  question  be  not  a  trouble- 
some one,  does  your  heart  say  nothing  to  you  ?  " 


The  Traitor's  End.  161 

"  Where  is  the  heart  ?  As  for  myself  I  have  forgotten 
it.  The  head  does  all,  calculates  all ;  the  heart  is  super- 
fluous ;  cool  calculation  is  necessary  to  make  one's  way 
in  the  world.  With  the  heart  one  makes  love-songs,  not 
plans  whereby  to  succeed  in  life." 

"But  Italy?" 

"  Italy  is  here,"  replied  Buoso,  touching  his  forehead  : 
"  I  have  heard  of  times  when  she  was  elsewhere,  but  I 
have  not  seen  them,  nor  do  I  believe  in  them.  Never- 
theless, if  they  can  be,  while  we  are  waiting  for  them,  let 
every  man  point  to  his  forehead  and  say,  '  Italy  is  here.'  " 

"  Fame,  then  ?" 

"  Oh  !  Fame  !  It  is  the  shadow  of  success  :  be  sure 
to  continue  fortunate,  and  men  will  be  sure  to  call  you 
great." 

"  I  never  till  this  moment  heard  mortal  tongue  uphold 
treachery." 

"  Nor  do  I  uphold  it.  Treachery,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, means  to  break  one's  faith.  Now  there  is  no  faith 
stronger  or  more  reasonable  than  that  which  every  man 
owes  to  himself,  for  nature  has  bound  its  contract  with 
conditions  that  cannot  be  broken,  for  when  you  injure 
yourself  you  commit  treachery  and  irreparable  treach- 
ery. I  have  never  done  any  harm  to  others  which,  by 
drinking  or  sleeping  upon  it,  I  could  not  entirely  forget ; 
so  the  sorrow  we  have  given  our  fellow-creatures  remains 
in  our  minds  like  a  remembrance,  but  the  good  we  have 
done  ourselves  clings  to  us  like  a  feeling." 

"  And  is  this  feeling  in  itself  a  happy  one  ?  " 

"Sir  Knight,  I  have  something  else  to  do  besides 
answering  your  questions.  If  you  asked  them  to  sound 
me,  I  have  already  told  you  enough,  if  you  are  wise,  to 
enable  you  to  understand  me ;  if  to  satisfy  your  own 
doubts,  I  must  blame  my  friends  of  Naples,  who  have 
chosen  in  you  such  a  scrupulous  messenger.  Hold  your- 
self in  readiness  to  go  to:morrow;  at  daybreak  I  will 
send  you  together  with  this  French  courier  to  the  camp 
of  the  count,  to  deliver  your  letters,  and  if  it  would  not 
trouble  you,  one  from  me  also,  which  I  will  write  before 
I  sleep." 


162  The  Traitor's  End. 

"  I  submit  myself  to  your  pleasure." 

"Sergio!  Gilberto  !  "  called  Buoso,  and  immediately 
two  servants  appeared,  to  whom  he  gave  the  order : 
"  See  that  these  guests  are  well  cared  for ;  look  to  it 
that  they  want  nothing  that  they  can  desire.  Adieu,  Sir 
Knight ;  I  hope  to  see  you  again  before  your  departure." 

Rogiero  and  the  French  courier  followed  the  attentive 
servants,  who  with  several  candles  lighted  the  way  ;  hardly 
had  they  left  the  hall,  when  the  voice  of  Buoso  was  again 
heard  crying  :  "  Sir  Knight !  " 

Rogiero  returned  and  asked  :  "What  do  you  wish  ?" 

"  Sir  Knight,  do  you  know  much  about  golden  flor- 
ins ?  " 

Rogiero  colored  slightly,  and  answered  no. 

Buoso  smiled,  and  drawing  out  his  purse,  said  :  "  That 
is  a  great  pity  for  a  knight  like  you  !  You  do  not  know 
the  florin,  which  is  the  most  beautiful  coin  struck  in  all 
Christendom  ?  There  are  some  who  prefer  the  agostari 
of  Frederick*  or  the  schifati  of  the  Normans,  but  give  rne 
the  beautiful  golden  florin,  which  is  coined  at  Florence. 
See  here,"  he  added,  drawing  one  forth,  and  showing  it 
to  Rogiero; — "on  the  one  side  the  lily,  on  the  other  John 
the  Baptist,  whence  the  true  proverb — '  Those  are  the 
best  friends  who  have  the  sitting  saint  and  the  golden 
lily.'  It  is  now  twelve  years  since  they  were  first  coined 
by  the  Florentine  merchants ;  the  gold  is  twenty-four 
carats  fine ;  they  are  worth  twenty  soldi  apiece,  and 
eight  weigh  an  ounce.  Would  you  do  me  a  favor,  Sir 
Knight  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  in  the  camp  of  Charles,  you  will  see  a 
certain  number  of  them  given  to  a  courier  to  bring  to 
me.  It  is  a  gift  which  the  good  Countess  Beatrice  wishes 
to  make  me,  and  which  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  refuse. 
Now  I  beg  you  to  trouble  yourself  so  far  as  to  see  that 
there  are  a  good  eight  thousand  of  them  ;  if  there  are 


*  A  gold  piece  coined  in  the  reign  of  Frederick  II.  On  one  side 
it  had  the  imperial  eagle,  on  the  other  the  head  of  the  Emperor ; 
its  value  was  nearly  five  dollars. 


The  Traitor's  End.  163 

more,  let  it  go  ;  but  if  the  sum  is  not  complete,  warn  the 

countess  of  the  deficiency.     Will  you  promise  me  to  do 

so?" 

"  I  promise  you." 

"  Many  thanks,  Sir  Knight."  » 

There  is  a  worthy  companion  for  Gano  de  Mayence, 

thought  Rogiero  to  himself, — and  I  ? — That  night  sleep 

visited  not  his  weary  eyes. 


"  Good-day  to  you,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  the  Countess 
Beatrice,  as  she  met  Count  Guy  de  Montfort  at  the 
door  of  the  room  where  she  had  slept.  She  advanced 
hastily,  with  her  dress  more  disarranged  than  was  fitting 
in  a  noble  dame  ;  her  maidens  hastened  after  her  and 
continued  adjusting,  one  her  veil,  another  her  girdle, 
another  some  other  part  of  her  dress,  as  she  hurried 
along. 

"  Lady,  may  you  be  successful  in  everything  you 
wish  ;  what  troubles  ypu  that  you  have  risen  so  discom- 
posed ?  " 

"  Cousin,  has  the  courier  arrived  ?  " 

"  Lady,  he  has  not  yet  been  seen." 

"  Can  Duera  have  betrayed  us  ?  Did  the  reward  ap- 
pear too  small  ?  Cousin,  send  some  men  to  learn  what 
has  happened.  Let  them  offer  the  wretch  double  the  sum 
if  he  will  let  us  pass.  Jelavicino  will  quickly  be  upon  us  ; 
if  that  should  happen,  we  are  lost.  Hasten,  dear  cousin, 
hasten." 

"  Let  us  wait  awhile,  lady." 

"  Ah  !  Guy,  Guy,  your  slowness  will  ruin  us ;  what 
do  you  fear  ?  " 

"What  do  I  fear?  If  Charles  had  not  commanded 
me  to  bring  him  the  army  entire  at  any  sacrifice,  or  if 
he  had  not  caused  me  to  be  accompanied  by  feminine 
fears,  I  would  already  have  routed  Duera  and  crossed 
the  Oglio  :  for  my  years  have  been  spent  in  conquering 
my  enemies  with  the  sword,  but  I  have  never  learned  to 
drive  them  away  by  gold  ;  neverfheless,  since  it  has 
pleased  Monseigneur  Charles  to  send  me  by  this  route 
full  of  dangers,  but  wholly  without  honor,  I  must  take 


1 64  The  Traitor's  End. 

t 

care  of  his  money,  for  if  we  double  the  reward  of  Buoso 
we  shall  not  have  enough  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the 
army  to  Rome." 

The  countess  was  about  to  reply,  and  who  knows 
wjjen  the  discussion  would  have  ended,  if  a  page  had  not 
entered  at  that  moment,  announcing  that  the  courier, 
bringing  another  man  with  him,  could  be  seen  riding  to- 
wards the  house. 

"  Thank  God  ! "  exclaimed  the  countess,  and  ran  to 
the  window.  "Yes,  certainly  it  is  he  himself,  .  .".  come 
and  see,  cousin  ;  .  .  .  but  what  is  the  matter  with  the  lazy 
fellows  that  they  ride  so  slowly?  Count,  one  would 
think  that  you  had  infected  all  the  horses  in  the  army 
with  your  own  inactivity ;  another  time,  count,  take  care 
to  give  your  couriers  the  best  horses  in  the  camp.  Tell 
me,  count,  in  how  many  days  can  we  reach  Rome  ?  " 

"  Countess,  receive  good  fortune  with  more  equanimity, 
and  you  will  feel  grief  less  in  adversity.  You  do  not  yet 
know  what  news  the  courier  brings." 

"  Oh,  my  heart  predicts  good  tidings,  and  it  has  never 
deceived  me.  There  is  your  hateful,  scornful  smile., 
What  would  you  have,  cousin?  I  am  made  so;  to  re- 
ceive good  and  evil  tidings  with  the  same  demeanor  is 
perfectly  impossible  to  me.  What  can  you  say  of  me  ? 
The  countess  laughs  when  fortune  is  propitious,  weeps 
when  it  is  adverse  ;  but  do  you  iji  your  own  heart  do 
otherwise  ?  And  you  boast  so  much  of  your  self-control, 
— of  your  power  over  your  feelings  ;  ah,  for  shame  !  weep 
or  laugh  when  you  feel  so  disposed.  Do  you  think  that 
I  should  lose  my  courage,  and  basely  complain  of  adver- 
sities, nor  use  what  sense  and  strength  Heaven  has  granted 
me,  to  overcome  them  ?" 

"  Countess,  the  man  who  accompanies  our  courier  is 
a  knight ;  would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  retire  and  ar- 
range your  dre.ss  a  little  ?" 

"  Count  de  Mont-fort,  we  beg  of  you  not  to  be  more 
concerned  for  our  person  than  we  ourselves  are,"  said  the 
Countess  Beatrice  with  a  scornful  gesture.  Then  look- 
ing around,  and  perceiving  that  she  was  in  truth  rather 
loosely  arrayed,  she  blushed,  smiled,  and  added  :  "  Dear 


The  Traitor's  End.  165 

cousin,  I  see  that  when  you  have  lost  a  little  of  your  sol- 
dierly roughness,  you  will  become  an  excellent  major- 
domo  for  the  most  stubborn  lady  who  has  passed  her  thir- 
tieth year."  Then  the  same  impulse  which  had  brought 
her  to  that  room  in  such  (Kshabille,  induced  her  to  leave  it 
to  adjust  her  dress,  for  the  desire  of  appearing  well,  if  in 
some  few  women  it  is  not  the  principal  passion,  is  cer- 
tainly the.  second. 

When  the  countess  returned  to  the  hall,  the  courier 
and  Rogiero  were  just  entering  by  another  door.  The 
courier,  kneeling,  announced  his  companion  as  the 
bearer  of  the  reply ;  the  countess  raised  him  graciously, 
and  with  the  usual  promise  that  his  services  should  be  re- 
membered, dismissed  him.  Then  Rogiero,  slightly  salut- 
ing the  lady,  presented  the.  letters>  which  she,  not  able 
to  read,  gravely  transferred  to  Count  de  Montfort,  saying 
to  him  in  a  low  voice  :  "  Hasten,  count,  for  I  am  very 
anxious  to  know  their  contents." 

De  Montfort  began  to  peruse  them,  but  before  he  was 
half  through,  the  countess  had  interrupted  him  two  or 
three  times,  asking  :  "  Oh  !  what  does  he  say  ? — Oh  ! 
what  is  it?" 

"  But,  lady,"  said  De  Montfort,  out  of  patience,  "  if  you 
do  not  let  me  read,  it  will  take  me  a  thousand  years  to 
tell  you."  He  himself  was  no  scholar,  being  abLe  to  read 
only  with  difficulty,  and  he  often  muttered  between  his 
teeth  :  "This  fellow  shows  himself  a  rascal  even  in  his 
handwriting !  would  that  the  chaplain  were  here  to  make 
out  this  scrawl." — At  last,  in  some  way  or  other,  he  read 
it,  and  without  waiting  to  be  asked,  said  softly  to  the 
countess  :  "  The  traitor  accedes  to  the  plan,  although 
he  writes,  that  as  he  has  taken  the  trouble  to  send  you  a 
Neapolitan  knight,  who  will  bring  you  more  pleasing  intel- 
ligence than  that  which  relates  to  the  pass  of  the  Oglio, 
he  thinks  that  the  sum  might  be  augmented.  He  begs 
you,  when  you  reach  Rome,  to  use  your  influence  that  he 
might  be  reconciled  to  the  Church,  and  become  a  sharer 
in  the  holy  indulgences  promised  to  whoever  takes  up  the 
cross  against  Manfred." 

"  In   regard    to   the   first   request,    you-  may  answer, 


1 66  The  Traitor's  End. 

count,  that  we  would  willingly  show  our  good-will  to  him 
more  bountifully,  but  that  our  present  straitened  circum- 
stances do  not  permit  it ;  and  that  we  estimate  highly  the 
service  that  he  renders  us,  and  that  the  house  of  France 
takes  pride  in  showing  itself  grateful.  As  to  the  second, 
assure  him  that  we  shall  bear  in  mind  to  plead  with  Pope 
Clement  to  bless  him  again,  and  receive  him  as  a  son  ; 
let  him  be  at  rest  upon  this  point,  for  we  sha.ll  care  for. 
him  as  for  a  brother." 

"  Ah  !  countess,  the  union  of  Buoso  with  the  Prince 
of  Darkness  seems  to  me  so  perfect,  that  it  would  be  a 
great  sin  to  disturb  it." 

After  these  words,  the  countess,  turning  towards  Ro- 
giero  with  womanly  grace,  said  to  him  :  "  Sir  Knight,  we 
understand  by  these  letters  that  you  are  the  bearer  of 
good  news  ;  impart  it  to  us,  and  thus  may  you  ever  pre- 
serve your  lady's  love." 

"  Lady,  what  it  is,  you  will  learn  from  these  papers." 

De  Montfort,  to  whom  they  were  handed,  read  first  with 
his  natural  coolness,  but  as  he  went  on  he  began  to  shake 
his  head,  muttering^  the  words  indistinctly.  When  he 
reached  the  end,  he'dropped  the  paper,  and  raising  his 
hands  and  eyes,  said  with  a  sigh  :  "  Good  Heavens !  we 
shall  have  Italy  without  striking  a  blow  !  I  thought  it  a 
land  of  bonor  .  .  ." 

So  great  was  Rogiero's  shame  at  this  exclamation,  that, 
overcome  by  his  emotions,  he  leaned  against  the  wall,  to 
save  himself  from  falling. 

"  What  are  you  muttering,  count  ?  " 

"  This  land  belongs  to  any  one  who  will  take  it." 

"  Why,  count  ?  " 

"Because  traitors  take  root  here  more  readily  than  the 
loyal,  and  the  greatest  of  Manfred's  barons  call  us,  as 
usual,  liberators,  because  we  are  going  to  liberate  them 
from  their  tyrant ;  for,  as  usual,  they  give  that  name  to  the 
man  whom  they  wish  to  betray." 

"  Ah,  cousin  !  so  great  is  the  joy  you  have  given  me 
that  1  am  ready  to  faint.  I  shall  at  last  wear  the  crown  ! 
I  too  shall  be  saluted  as  queen  !  I  shall  no  longer  be 
distinguished  from  my  proud  sisters  by  the  mark  of  shame  ! 


The  Traitor's  End.  167 

I  too  shall  be  able  to  hold  up  my  head  bravely  !  I  too 
.  .  .  Count  de  Montfort,  it  seems  as  if  you  were  an  enemy, 
that  you  grieve  at  what  delights  me  ! " 

"  Madame,  your  wish  was  to  obtain  a  crown.  It  will  be 
granted  you  :  you  are  rejoiced  at  it,  it  is  well ;  mine  was 
to  bring  to  a  successful  issue  a  glorious  undertaking,  and 
to  die  honorably.  I  see  now  that  it  is  an  error  to  hope 
it  in  this  country,  therefore  I  grieve." 

"  It  is  a  generous  sorrow,  and  well  worthy  of  you,  brave 
baron,"  said  the  countess,  pressing  De  Montfort's  hand ; 
"but  rejoice  for  my  sake,  for  you  ought  not  to  grieve  at 
what  pleases  me." 

"  Ah  !  my  beautiful  cousin,  if  I  wished  to  infuse  bitter- 
ness that  you  could  not  forget  into  your  present  pleasure, 
I  would  tell  you  that  the  traitor  does  not  change  his  heart 
with  the  treachery  that  he  commits.  He  remains  like  a 
wild  beast  in  his  den,  awaiting  the  prey  ;  the  dominion 
of  Charles  will  become  distasteful  as  that  of  Manfred  has, 
and  then  .  .  ." 

"  Your  observations  are  as  appropriate  as  to  speak  of 
death  at  table,  or  to  wear  black  at  a  wedding.  Joy  is  so 
rare  and  so  sweet,  that  it  should  not  be  disturbed  by  your 
melancholy  fancies.  It  will  be  bitter  enough  to  think  of 
misfortune  when  it  comes  :  at  present,  count,  let  us  be 
merry :  '  leave  care  for  the  morrow.'  And  you,  Sir 
Knight,  know  that  you  could  have  brought  no  news  more 
grateful  than  this,  to  the  Countess  Beatrice.  Hence- 
forward you  will  be  with  us  ;  1  hope  that  you  will  often 
gratify  me  with  your  presence.  Meanwhile,  not  that  I 
consider  it  any  recompense,  but  merely  as  a  mark  of  my 
gratitude,  wear  this  jewel  for  rny  sake."  And  here,  taking 
off  a  rich  chain,  she  placed  it  with  her  own  hands  round 
Ro'giero's  neck,  who,  as  he  heard  it  ring  against  his  armor, 
shuddered  and  muttered  :  "  Behold  the  crime  is  com- 
pleted, the  reward  of  treachery  has  been  accepted.  My 
.  soul  has  received  the  stamp  of  infamy,  which  eternity 
can  never  efface." 

De  Montfort,  observing  the  immoderate  vivacity  of  the 
countess,  shaking  his  head,  smiled  slightly,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice  :  "  She  is  a  noble  woman,  but  still  a  woman." 


1 68  The  Traitor's  End. 

Beatrice,  diverted  by  another  care,  little  heeding  whether 
Rogiero  had  thanked  her  or  not,  ordered  the  money  to 
be  brought,  counted  it,  and  gave  it  to  the  courier,  to  take 
to  Duera.  De  Montfort  had  gone  to  give  orders  for  the 
advance  of  the  army,  but  like  a  wise  captain  he  took  good 
care  that  his  forces  should  be  arranged  in  every  particular 
as  if  the  enemy  were  there  to  attack  them. 

Buoso,  having  received  the  money,  shut  himself  up  in 
Cremona,  spreading  the  report  that  the  French,  crossing 
the  river  Serio,  had  fallen  back  upon  Milan,  to  attempt 
the  route  through  Parma.  The  army  of  Charles  crossed 
the  Oglio  without  opposition,  and  following  its  course, 
reached  the  Mantuan  territory,  where,  joyfully  received 
by  Ludovico,  Count  of  San  Bonifazio,  the  troops  rested 
somewhat  from  the  fatigues  they  had  endured.  Resum- 
ing their  march,  they  crossed  the  Po  upon  a  bridge  pre- 
pared for  them  by  the  Marquis  Obizzo  d'Este,  and  reached 
the  territory  of  Romagna  in  safety.  Now  began  for 
Charles  d'Anjou  the  series  of  prosperous  events  which 
enabled  him  in  a  few  months  to  overturn  the  noble  mon- 
archy of  Manfred.  It  is  said  that  the  Marquis  Oberto 
Pelavicino,  who,  having  been  advised  of  the  movements 
of  the  French,  had  immediately  left  his  position  at  Pavia, 
reached  Soncino  a  few  hours  after  they  had  passed  it ; 
where,  seeing  how  the  skilful  General  Guy  de  Montfort 
had  fortified  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  he  thought  it 
best  not  to  follow  him,  and  full  of  anger  joined  Buoso  in 
Cremona.  The  interview  of  these,  two  captains  was  full 
of  bitterness.  If  the  report  deserves  belief,  Pelavicino  is 
said  to  have  prophesied  to  him  :  "  Buoso,  I  am  not  aston- 
ished that  you  endeavor  to  conceal  your  crime  with  false- 
hood. You  have  committed  the  greatest,  you  can  commit 
the  lesser.  But  if  it  is  your  part  to  deceive  me,  it  is  mine 
not  to  believe  you.  I  might  reveal  your  disloyalty  to  the 
nation,  arouse  the  excited  people  against  you,  bring  you 
and  your  race  to  a  miserable  end ;  but  God  forbid  that 
by  .me  should  the  sword  be  raised  against  my  brother-in- 
arms, against  him  to  whom  I  have  sworn  friendship  from 
my  earliest  years.  Nevertheless,  bear  it  in  your  memory, 
that  with  the  price  of  your  betrayed  country  you  have 


The  Traitor's  End.  169 

bought  for  yourself  ruin  in  this  life,  and  damnation  in  the 
next." 

A  mind  worthy  of  immortality,  which  from  its  prison 
of  clay  dared  to  conceive  the  design  of  loo'king  upon 
the  Eternal,  and  to  examine  the  mysteries  of  Nature, 
distributing  at  his  will  rewards  and  punishments,  has 
plunged  into  the  infernal  frosts  that  doomed  spirit,*  and, 
as  though  divine  wisdom  had  taken  care  to  fulfil  the 
prediction  of  Oberto,  the  end  of  Buoso's  life  was  in 
nothing  less  terrible  than  he  had  foretold  him.  The 
people,  learning  his  perfidy,  infuriated  with  anger,  over- 
threw his. house,  destroyed  his  family, — but  granted  him 
life.  Buoso,  overwhelmed  with  want  and  misery,  wan- 
-  dered  through  the  streets  of  the  city  of  which  he  had 
been  the  lord,  for  Providence,  to  complete  his  punish- 
ment, had  deprived  him  of  the  will  to  take  his  own  life. 
During  the  day  he  wandered  in  his  fierce  loneliness,  mut- 
tering rapidly  like  a  lunatic,  heeding  neither  the  cries, 
the  contumelies,  nor  the  blows  with  which  he  was  con- 
stantly persecuted.  At  night,  when  ravenous  hunger 
tormented  him,  he  would  stop  in  some  dark  place,  and 
concealing  his  face,  extend  his  hand,  begging  charity  for 
the  love  of  God,  in  a  voice  which  he  endeavored  to  dis- 
guise. Useless  attempt !  there  was  no  one  who  did  not 
recognize  him.  Some  passed,  shutting  their  hearts  and 
.  purses  against  him,  and  in  a  harsh  voice  telling  him  : 
"  Despair  and  die  !  "  These  were  the  most  compassion- 

*  Va'via,  rispose-,  e  cio  che  tu  vuoi  conta  : 
Ma  non  tacer,  se  tu  di  qua  entr'eschi, 
Di  que'  ch'  ebb'  or  cosi  la  lingua  pronta  ; 
Ei  piange  qui  1'argento  de'  Franceschi : 
lo  vidi,  potrai  djr,  quel  da  Duera 
1  La  dove  i  peccatori  stanno  freschi. 

DANTE,  Inferno,  c.  32. 

"Away  !  "  he  answered  :   "  what  thou  wilt,  relate  ; 
But,  shouldst  thou  get  from  hence  with  breath  again, 

Mention  him  too  so  ready  with  his  prate. 
Here  he  bewails  that  silver  of  the  French  : 
I  saw  Duera' s  lord,  thou  mayst  declare, 
Down  where  the  sinners  in  the  coolness  blench." 

Translation  of  T.  W.  PARSONS,  ESQ. 
8 


The  Traitor's  End. 


ate  !  Those  who  possessed  the  diabolical  knowledge  of 
adding  torment  to  degradation,  and  enjoyed  making  the 
iron  enter  more  deeply  into  the  soul,  gave  him  a  penny, 
and  with  it  the  imprecation  that  food  might  be  turned  to 
poison  in  his  blood,  and  drink  become  as  gall  and  vine- 
gar to  his  agonized  soul.  One  evening,  trembling,  his1 
teeth  chattering  with  fever-chills,  he  went  towards  a  mon- 
astery, hoping  that  the  friars  would  receive  him  out  of 
compassion  ;  he  ascended  the  first  and  second  step,  he 
raised  his  hand  to  knock,  when  suddenly  he  falls  for- 
ward against  the  door,  and  slipping  along  the  wall,  rolls 
down  the  steps  ;  in  the  morning  the  porter  found  him 
as  cold  as  the  stone  upon  which  he  lay.  The  friars  pro- 
tected his  remains  from  the  insults  of  the  people,  and 
buried  them  in  the  cloisters.  The  charity  of  religion 
stifled  reproach  upon  the  lip,  but  could  utter  no  prayer 
over  him,  nor  sprinkle  him  with  holy  water.  Pity  herself 
sighed  with  pleasure  over  that  miserable  grave. 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.          171 
CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    KNIGHT    OF    THE   THUNDERBOLT. 


L'una  zuffa  e  poi  1'altra  io  vi  vo'  dire 
Che  in  due  luoghi  ad  un  tempo  si  travaglia, 
Lo  strepito  6  si  grande  del  ferire, 
Lo  spezzar  della  piastra  e  della  maglia, 
Che  fa  chi  guarda  intorno  sbigottire. 

ARIOSTO,  Orlando  Furioso. 

Two  combats  for  my  warlike  theme  I  take, 
That  in  two  places  at  one  time  prevail : 

So  harsh  the  clangor  meeting  weapons  make, 
So  loud  resound  the  blows  on  coats  of  mail, 

That  well  the  looker  on  with  fear  may  quake. 

M.  G.  M. 

[ERHAPS  it  was  the  reward  of  constancy. 
Charles  of  Anjou  reached  the  shore.  When  his 
courage  was  struggling  with  death,  if  any  one 
had  placed  a  hand  on  his  heart,  he  would  have 
felt  its  pulsations  neither  increase  nor  diminish  ;  when, 
losing  all  hopes  of  outside  help,  his  soul  was  reduced  to 
the  alternative  either  to  give  up  in  despair  or  survive,  it 
brought  forth  a  vigor,  of  which  he  himself  would  not 
have  thought  it  capable,  if  the  occasion  had  not  pre- 
sented itself.  Charles  reached  the  land,  for  his  galley 
had  been  submerged  only  a  mile  distant  from  the  shore, 
between  Cape  Linaro  and  Civita  Vecchia ;  but  so  weak  and 
exhausted,  that  it  seemed  as  if  his  strength  had  only  lasted 
long  enough  not  to  perish  in  the  water.  In  the  morn- 
ing there  was  seen  that  ambitious  man,  destined  to  over- 
throw the  throne  of  the  great  Frederick,  stretched  motion- 
less upon  the  sand,  chilled  through  all  his  bones,  dripping 
wet  from  head  to  foot.  The  vilest  of  men  could  have  in- 
sulted him,  the  most  cowardly  have  killed  him  ;  the  slight- 
est breath  could  have  extinguished  that  vital  spark  which 


172         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

was  flickering  doubtfully  around  the  seat  of  all  sensations. 
The  sun,  distilling  into  his  veins  its  reviving  warmth, 
heated  his  blood,  and  recalled  his  senses  to  their  usual 
office  ;  he  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  as  one  beside  him- 
self, and  turned  his  wandering  eyes  upon  the  surface  of 
the  waters.  The  heaven  smiled  serene,  the  sea  was 
calm  ;  indeed  one  could  have  noticed  floating  planks, 
oars,  oarsmen,  witness  of  its  terrible  fury ;  yet  it  now 
rejoiced  in  a  beautiful  azure  ;  placidly  rippling,  as  under 
the  steps  of  our  Lord,  it  seemed  to  invite  one  with  the 
flattery  of  its  charms  to  trust  to  its  immense  surface. 
Likewise  sin  tempts  one  !  Over  all  the  debris  of  the  ship-  m 
wreck  was  to  be  noticed  the  poor  master  of  the  galley  : 
he  lay  supine,  his  body  swollen,  floating  here  and  there 
at  the  mercy  of  the  wind  and  waves  like  a  cork  island  ; 
at  times  the  sea,  lifting  him  on  its  surface,  seemed  to  hand 
him  back  to  earth,  but  suddenly  withdrawing,  carried 
him  farther  out  than  before  ;  at  other  times  it  would 
deposit  him  on  the  shore,  but  soon  after,  as  if  repent- 
ing, turned  to  bear  him  oft"  again  ;  if  it  did  not  reach  far 
enough  once  or  twice,  it  would  recede  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, as  if  to  take  a  proper  distance  in  order  to  rush  more 
impetuously,  so  that  the  third  or  fourth  time,  surging 
around  him,  foaming,  gurgling,  it  would  carry  him  off  in 
triumph.  It  seemed  like  a  boy  amusing  himself  with  his 
plaything  .  .  .  but  the  playthings  of  the  sea  are  ships  sub- 
merged and  shipwrecked  marjners. 

"  Poor  Master  Armond  !  "  sighed  Charles,  after  having 
sadly  observed  him  a  long  time,  and  his  soul  was  ab- 
sorbed in  mournful  meditations ; — when,  lifting  his  head, 
he  noticed  several  sails  appearing  on  the  horizon,  which, 
aided  by  a  favorable  breeze,  were  steering  for  the  land  ; 
and  behold  Charles,  forgetting  every  other  sensation, 
anxious  between  fear  and  joy,  rose  to  his  feet  to  discover 
whether  by  chance  they  may  not  be  his.  Compassion  in 
the  heart  of  the  ambitious  man  passes  as  swiftly  as  a 
lucid  interval  in  the  mind  of  the  insane.  !  .  .  Master  Ar- 
mond, the  pilot,  and  their 'brothers  in  misfortune,  disap- 
peared from  the  memory  of  the  count,  never  to  return 
again. 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.          173 

"  Is  this  a  deception  of  my  eyes  ?  or  my  desire  de- 
ceives me  ?  "  exclaimed  Charles,  rubbing  his  eyes  to  see 
better.  "  Is  not  that  my  beloved  flag  ?  Certainly,  it  is( 
blue  ...  no  ...  yes  ;  so  may  St.  Denis  grant  these  to  be 
my  ships,  as  that  flag  is  really  blue  !  Alas  !  But  Man-j 
fred's  flag  also  bears  a  field  of  the  same  color,  .  .  .  but 
the  white  eagle  makes  a  larger  mark,  and  would  be  seen 
from  here.  .  .  .  Swaying  its  folds  methought  I  saw  red  .  .  . 
yes.  red.  .  .  .  Glorious  St.  Martin  !  The  go\&enfleur-de- 
lis  /  " 

And  here  he  showed  his  extreme  joy  with  such  wild  de- 
monstrations, that  he  himself  always  blushed  afterwards, 
whenever  he  remembered  it ;  for  it  is  a  very  old  proverb, 
that  "  no  man  is  a  hero 'when  all  alone." 

Fortune,  womanlike,  tired  of  Manfred,  followed  the 
footprints  of  Charles,  and  like  a  woman  abandoned  the 
good  for  the  bad.  The  galleys,  called  by  the  signals 
made  by  Charles,  approached  the  shore,  and  the  French 
hailed  their  lord  with  transports  of  joy,  as  if  he  had 
miraculously  arisen  from  the  dead.  Not  far  from  where 
they  were  they  could  discern  the  belfries,  the  church  cupo- 
las, and  the  houses  of  a  city, — it  was  Civita  Vecchia. 
Charles,  coasting  along  the  shore,  brought  his  twenty  gal- 
leys into  that  port,  and,  leaving  them  there,  with  a  part  of 
his  people  he  hastily  marched  to  Viterbo  to  meet  Pope 
Clement.  They  embraced  and  welcomed  each  other  as 
two  men  bound  by  present  need  and  future  interest. 

By  another  route,  Montfort,  with  a  rare  example  of 
prosperous  fortune,  having  passed  through  the  Roman 
States,  where  he  had  been  joined  by  the  Guejphs  of  Italy, 
among  which  were  the  four  hundred  Florentine  men-at- 
arms,  was  approaching  Viterbo.  Glad  was  Count  Charles  of 
the  arrival  of  Montfort,  and  much  more  so  of  the  four  hun- 
dred Florentines  that  had  joined  him.  It  is  well  to  know 
that  in  1260,  when  the  Ghibelline  party  headed  by  Fari- 
nata  degli  Uberti  prevailed  in  Florence,  all  the  Guelphs 
evacuated  the  town  on  the  night  of  the  ijth  September, 
and  sought  a  refuge  in  the  city  of  Lucca.  They  were 
well  received  for  a  long  time  by  the  faithful  Lucca  people, 
until  they  themselves  were  defeated  in  the  war  which 


174         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

they  sustained  against  the  invincible  Farinata.  The  Flo- 
rentines were  obliged  to  seek  a  safer  asylum,  in  order  to 
escape  the  bitter  persecutions  of  their  enemies.  "  It  was 
a  very  sad  spectacle,"  says  the  historian  who  narrates 
these  events,  "  matrons  and  children  escaping  over  the 
Alpine  heights  of  St.  Pellegrino ;  many  of  the  principal 
citizens  dying  of  hunger  and  cold  in  the  road,  until  they 
reached  Bologna."  Here  the  men  trained  themselves  for 
the  profession  of  arms,  exercising  daily,  so  that  in  a  short 
time  they  acquired  the  reputation  of  valorous  knights. 
Called  to  Modena  by  the  Guelph  faction,  they  subdued  the 
Ghibellines  ;  the  same  they  did  at  Reggio,  where  twelve 
of  them,  who  afterwards  were  c^jled  the  paladins,  over- 
came and  killed  the  famous  giant  named  Tacha,  who  with 
an  enormous  iron  mace  killed  and  maimed  everybody, 
as  the  reader,  who  is  desirous  of  learning  those  things, 
can  find  in  the  chronicles  of  the  times.  These  soldiers 
of  fortune,  who  had  earned  much  in  those  wars,  mounted 
magnificent  horses  and  wore  very  rich  armor.  They  were 
led  by  Guido  Guerra,  cadet  of  the  Counts  Guidi,  grand 
nephew  of  that  Guido  Sangue  who  also  escaped  from  the 
slaughter  that  the  people  of  Ravenna  committed  of  all  his 
family,  if  it  be  true  what  the  ancient  historians  have  trans- 
mitted to  us.  Charles,  having  no  more  money,  was  very 
lavish  to  them  of  promises,  and  the  pontiff  of  indulgen- 
ces ;  so  mu.ch  so  that  this  latter  allowed  them  to  carry 
his  own  flag,  displaying  on  a  field  argent,  an  eagle  gules, 
with  serpent  vert  in  its  claws. 

The  Florentines  received  it  with  the  joy  of  hatred  that 
supposes  itself  sanctified  ;  only  they  added  to  it  a  fleur- 
de-lis  gules  over  the  head  of  the  eagle  ;  since  argent  with 
a  fleur-de-lis  gules  were  the  arms  of  the  Guelphs  of 
Florence,  gules  with  a  fleur-de-lis  argent  being  the  arms 
of  the  Ghibellines. 

Now  the  French  and  the  Italian  Guelphs  united  in 
military  order,  with  the  Pontiff  and  Count  of  Provence  at 
their  head,  moved  from  Viterbo  towards  Rome.  Clement, 
clothed  in  his  pontifical  garments,  mounted  a  snow-white 
palfrey  ;  the  magnificence  of  his  mantle  was  such,  that 
it  covered  not  only  his  person,  but  also  the  whole  of  the 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  175 

palfrey,  whence  Dante  with  his  keen  satire,  said  what  he 
did  in  the  twenty-first  canto  of  //  Paradiso.  * 

His  horse's  trappings,  which  were  covered  outside  with 
scarlet  velvet,  were  embroidered  in  gold ;  the  very  long 
saddle  cloth  of  the  same  material  was  also  embroidered 
with  roses  of  gold.  He  wore  on  his  head  a  mitre  similar 
to  that  worn  nowadays  by  the  bishops ;  for  the  triple 
crown  did  not  yet  adorn  the  pontifical  heads,  and  it 
was  only  towards  the  end  of  that  century  that  Boniface 
VIII.,  the  glorious  Pope,  first  used  it.  In  his  left  hand 
he  held  the  silver  crosier,  like  the  shepherd's  hook,  to 
denote  the  mildness  with  which  our  Saviour  ordained 
that  the  faithful  should  be  governed.  He  lifted  his  right 
hand  in  the  act  of  blessing,  and  it  was  so  habituated  to 
this  motion,  that  it  blessed  when  there  was  no  need  of  it. 
Both  his  hands  were  covered  with  most  beautiful  gloves, 
and  on  the  third  finger  of  his  right  hand,  over  the  glove, 
shone  a  most  precious  ring.  On  each  side  of  his  horse's 
head,  to  regulate  his  steps,  walked  two  young  pages  sump- 
tuously dressed,  holding  the  bridle  bit,  which  ended  with 

*  Or  voglion  quinci  e  quindi  chi  rincalzi 
Gli  modern!  pastori,  e  chi  gli  men!, 
Tanto  *n  gravi,  e  chi  dirietro  gli  alzi. 
Cuopron  de'  manti  loro  i  palafreni, 
Si  che  due  bestie  van  sott  'una  pelle  : 
O  pazienza,  che  tanto  sostieni ! 

And  when  I've  seen,  on  some  high  holiday, 
Through  the  live  streets  their  long  processions  roll, 
And  the  fat,  ermined  friars  on  palfreys  gay, — 
Both  creatures  covered  with  one  furry  stole, — * 
Him  I  remembered  robed  in  mean  array, 
Who  entered  Zion  on  an  ass's  foal. 

He  like  an  humble  peasant  meekly  rode, 
While  shouted  forth  Jerusalem  a  song, 
And  with  palm-boughs  his  gladsome  pathway  strewed  ; 
Our  modern  pastors  need  a  hand  full  strong 
On  either  side  to  prop  their  helpless  load  ; 
O,  patience!  patience!  that  endur'st  so  long  ! 
T.  W.  PARSONS,  ESQ.,  Paraphrase  of  a  passage  in  Dante. 

*  "  Both  beasts  furred  over  with  a  single  stole,"  or  "  two  beasts  under  one  skin," 
would  be  nearer  to  Dante's  expression. 


176          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

golden  rings,  from  which  hung  tassels  of  crimson  silk. 
Charles  d'Anjou  rode  on  the  right  hand  of  the  Pope.  He 
wore  a  complete  steel  armor,  wonderfully  inlaid  with  golden 
arabesques,  only  that,  instead  of  a  helmet,  he  wore  on 
his  head  a  count's  coronet.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  golden 
staff  adorned  with  precious  stones  :  from  the  top  of  his 
left  shoulder,  fastened  by  a  beautifully  embroidered  ribbon, - 
hung  the  cross  that  he  had  received  from  the  Cardinal 
Simon  of  Tours,  to  indicate  to  those  who  would  believe 
it,  that  no  earthly  interest  but  the  greater  glory  of  the 
Church  had  induced  him  to  that  war  against  Manfred. 
A  mantle  like  the  imperial,  lined  with  ermine,  and 
embroidered  outside  with  golden  fleur-de-lis,  completed 
the  dress.  The  horse  which  Monseigneur  Charles  mounted 
was  the  same  that  he  always  rode  in  his  war  campaigns  ; 
a  generous  animal,  white  as  snow-flakes,  born  of  an  Arab 
mare,  by  a  stallion  of  Normandy.  From  his  flesh  colored 
nostrils  he  seemed  to  sniff  the  battle.  He  was  beautifully 
formed  in  every  part  of  his  body,  but  was  rather  heavily 
caparisoned  by  a  leather  accoutrement,  ornamented  with 
arabesques  and  steel  buckles.  By  the  manner  in  which 
the  count  restrained  the  impatience  of  his  generous  steed, 
he  showed  himself  a  master  of  horsemanship,  and  though 
impassible  in  his  countenance,  still  one  could  observe 
that  he  rather  incited  than  repressed  him.  On  the  other 
side  rode  Countess  Beatrice  npon  a  Spanish  jennet,  who, 
as  if  conscious  of  the  high  rank  of  the  rider,  tossed  his 
head  and  curvetted  in  a  beautiful  manner.  She,  boldly 
disdaining  to  have  her  bridle  held  by  a  squire,  as  was 
the  custom  of  the  ladies  of  those  days,  guided  the  horse 
herself.  Although  she  had  pawned  or  sold  many  of  her 
jewels,  as  we  have  said  before,  in  order  to  assist  her  hus- 
band in  that  enterprise,  one  must  not  suppose  that  there 
had  not  been  left  enough  for' her  to  appear  well  adorned 
with  them  ;  she  wore  around  her  waist  a  bodice  of  golden 
scales,  which  outlined  her  figure  as  far -as  the  hips,  in 
the  same  manner  as  the  ancient  Roman  cuirasses  ;  in 
the  middle  of  the  breast  was  a  fleur-de-lis  formed  of 
sapphires,  rubies  and  other  precious  stones ;  all  the 
rest  was  adorned  with  rosettes  composed  of  fine  small 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  177 

stones  of  different  colors  :  a  very  rich  belt  surrounded  her 
waist,  on  one  side  of  which  was  fastened  a  purse,  on  the 
other  a  poniard  ;  her  dress  of  blue  velvet  was  embroid- 
ered with  golden  fleur-de-lis  like  that  of  Charles  ;  her 
hair,  arranged  in  very  small  braids  that  covered  part  of  her 
cheeks  and  neck,  was  surmounted  by  the  coronet  of  a  coun- 
tess. Beatrice  was  not  handsome,  but  tall  and  majestic. 
In  her  face  there  appeared  that  indefinite  stamp  of 
authority  that  the  lords  of  the  earth  derive  from  their 
fathers,  or  rather  from  the  habit  of  commanding.  The 
people  gathered  on  the  passage,  at  the  appearance  of  so 
magnificent  a  lady,  would  acclaim  her,  and  she  with  eyes 
sparkling  with  joy  would,  courteously  smiling,  return  their 
salutations.  There  followed  after  them  the  principal 
barons  of  Provence  and  of  France,  with  different  accoutre- 
ments and  arms,  to  describe  which,  we  could  easily  fill 
a  thousand  and  more  pages,  much  to  the  injury  of  our 
publishers  ;  then  followed  the^army,  divided  into  squad- 
rons, beautifully  arrayed,  each  of  which  was  led  by  a  knight 
of  great  renown  in  arms. 

In  this  wise  they  marched  as  far  as  Baccano.  Here  they 
met  two  hundred  light  horsemen,  dressed  with  blue  tunics 
embroidered  with  golden  fleur-de-lis,  mounted  upon 
horses  aUof  one  color.  They  stood  facing  the  advancing 
army,  and  -so  they  remained  until  it  had  approached 
within  a  bow-shot ;  then  they  started  their  horses  at  a 
precipitous  speed,  with  their  lances  lowered,  as  if  they 
intended  to  assail  it ;  but  of  a  sudden  they  stopped 
short,  and  then  they  scattered  themselves,  represent- 
ing a  battle  of  infinite  single  combats.  Having  ex- 
changed a  few  blows,  they  raised  their  lances  and  pre- 
sented a  long  lane  of  interwoven  weapons.  Then  they 
returned  to  their  skirmishing,  and  some  went  out  and 
others  came  in  ;  some  ran  to  one  side,  some  to  the 
other,  and  then  they,  would  agglomerate  and  entangle 
each  other  so  as  to  form  a  swarming  and  orderly  confu- 
sion, wonderful  to  look  at.  At  a  given  signal,  in  less  time 
than  it  takes  to  relate,  they  appeared  drawn  up  in  hol- 
low squares,  in  close  or  open  ranks,  in  a  line  along  the 
road,  or  in  separate  sections;  then  they  resumed  new 
8* 


178          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

sham  fights,  new  groups,  and  always  so  varied  and  beautiful 
to  look  at,  that  I  believe  no  such  figures  are  executed 
nowadays  in  the  so  much  boasted  modern  ballets. 

This  spectacle,  which  did  not  cease  until  they  had  ar- 
rived at  the  distance  of  seven  miles  from  Rome,  was  sur- 
prisingly agreeable  to  Charles.  At  that  point,  however, 
giving  their  horses  the  rein,  they  disappeared.  After  the 
count  had  ridden  quite  a  long  distance,  he  saw  them 
again  across  the  road,  immovable  as  the  first  time,  hold- 
ing their  lances  up,  with  pennants  fluttering;  but  this 
time  they  did  not  stir  at  his  approach.  Charles  was 
watching  attentively  to  see  what  would  take  place,  when 
they  opened  right  and  left,  and  there  appeared  from  be- 
hind them  a  magnificent  embassy  of  Roman  noblemen, 
who,  dressed  in  their  ermine  togas,  presented  themselves 
before  the  pope.  Kneeling  on  the  ground,  they  offered  him 
the  golden  keys  of  the  city  ;  after  which  the  one  who 
seemed  the  highest  in  authority  among  them,  after  having 
received  due  permission  from  the  pope,  delivered  an  ad- 
dress, which  was  neither  in  Latin  nor  in  Italian,  but  which 
he  intended  for  the  purest  Latin.  This  we  shall  not  report, 
for  it  is  enough  to  state  that  it  was,  as  usual,  humiliating 
and  servile,  and,  although  it  lasted  more  than  half  an  hour, 
the  gist  of  it  was,  that — it  was  the  universal  desire  of  the 
Senate  and  people  of  Rome,  Senatus  Populiisque  Romanus, 
that  Charles  should  be  elected  Senator  of  Rome,  as  if  the 
dominion  of  the  pope  was  not  enough,  and  even  too 
much,  for  them.  And  here  we  desire  you  to  note,  gentle 
reader,  that  scarcely  four  years  before  this,  a  similar  em- 
bassy had  been  deputed  to  King  Manfred,  which  assured 
him  that  it  was  the  universal  desire  of  the  Senate  and 
people  of  Rome  that  he  should  be  elected  perpetual  Sena- 
tor of  Rome.  Whether  this  offer,  made  by  his  subjects  to 
Charles,  was  acceptable  to  Clement,  He  only  knows  who 
can  penetrate  the  secrete  of  the  heart.  To  all  outward 
appearances,  however,  he  seemed  to  be  very  much 
pleased  with  it,  and  gave  a  willing  assent.  Then  they 
brought  forth  an  altar,  upon  which  were  laid  several  relics 
of  saints,  and  the  book  of  the  Gospels.  The  pope  dis- 
mounted, and  with  him  Charles  and  the  rest  of  the  army. 


The  Knight -of  the  Thunderbolt.          179 

Then,  ascending  the  altar,  he  kneeled  before  it,  chanting 
a  prayer,  which  was  responded  to  by  all  the  bystanders  ; 
afterwards,  rising,  he  asked  Monseigneur  Charles  whether 
he  desired  to  be  a  Senator  of  Rome  ;  to  which  Charles  re- 
plied, that  very  willingly  he  would,  if  it  so  pleased  his 
holiness.  Clement  then  opened  the  book  of  the. Gospels, 
and  ordered  Charles  to  take  the  usual  oath.  Charles, 
placing  his  hand  on  the  Gospels,  read  the  following  for- 
mula: "We,  Charles  of  France,  by  the  grace,  of  God, 
Count  of  Anjou,  of  Folcacchieri,  of  Languedoc,  of  Prov- 
ence, etc.,  etc.,  by  the  free  will  of  the  Roman  Senate  and 
people,  elected  Senator  of  Rome,  swear  upon  the  holy 
Gospels  never,  either  by  word  or  deed,  to  injure  the  life 
or  limbs  of  our  most  glorious,  pious,  universal,  apos- 
tolic Pontiff,  Clement  IV.,  nor  his  successors  ;  to  reveal 
all  conspiracies  against  him  ;  to  uphold  him  in  the  posses- 
sion of  the  popedom  and  the  free  enjoyment  of  all  the 
royalties  belonging  to  the  patrimony  of  St.  Peter ;  to  in- 
sure the  protection  of  the  cardinals  and  their  families,  to 
maintain  the  city  of  Rome  in  the  fulness  of  her  territory 
and  jurisdiction,  and,  in  fine,  to  do  all  things  that 
may  contribute  to  the  greater  honor  of  the  holy  Church 
and  of  God."  Having  pronounced  these  words/  the 
pontiff  placed  in  his  hand  the  keys,  as  symbol  of 
civil  authority  ;  then  the  sword,  as  leader  of  his  troops  ; 
and  finally  the  standard  of  St.  Peter,  as  champion  of  the 
holy  Church.  At  this  point  there  arose  such  tumult  of 
cheering,  such  sound  of  trumpets,  that  it  was  heard  as  far 
as  Rome.  It  was  already  far  in  the  night  when  they 
reached  the  city  of  the  Caesars.  .  .  .The  road  was  resplen- 
dent as  day  through  the  many  torches  that  burned  on 
each  side.  Under  the  gate  stood  the  Carroccio,  first  in- 
vented by  Aribert,  Archbishop  of  Milan,  in  1026,  to  serve 
as  a  signal  of  war  to  the  Italian  cities,  not  to  do  honor  to 
the  arrival  of  those  whom  they  ought  to  have  repulsed. 
This  was  a  car,  as  my  readers  may  know,  drawn  by  four 
or  more  fat  white  oxen,  covered  with  scarlet  cloth  richly 
embroidered.  Around  the  base  were  fixed  two  tiers  of 
benches  (for  the  wheels  were  concealed  within),  and 
on  these  benches  stood  large  silver  candlesticks,  with 


i8o          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

enormous  wax  candles.  From  the  centre  of  the  car  rose 
a  mast,  covered  with  drapery,  in  the  middle  of  which  hung 
a  gold  crucifix.  From  the  top  of  the  mast  hung  the 
gonfalon  of  Rome.  The  two  hems  of  the  gonfalon,  which 
drooped  ten  or  more  yards  lower  than  the  cart,  were  sup- 
ported on  the  spear  points  of  two  knights  of  the  noblest , 
blood,  armed  in  full  armor.  Many  other  smaller  sym- 
bolical pennons  surrounded  the  principal  one,  in  which 
there  were  represented  the  lion,  to  indicate  strength  ; 
the  woman 'looking  on  a  glass,  for  prudence;  another 
leaning  on  a  pillar  with  scales  in  her  hands,  for  justice, 
and  many  and  many  other  virtues  that  the  Roman  people 
of  those  times  had -only  on  their  flags.  The  knights, 
as  soon  as  they  saw  the  pontiff,  the  count  and  countess 
approach,  advanced  to  meet  them,  and  covered  them 
with  the  gonfalon  as  with  a  canopy.  The  car  moved ; 
the  pontiff  was  the  first  to  pass  the  gates  of  Rome.  The 
streets,  overspread  with  greens  and  flowers,  sent  forth  a 
delicious  fragrance.  The  windows,  illuminated  and  hung 
with  beautiful  tapestries,  were  crowded  with  ladies  in 
their  best  apparel,  who  threw  myriads  of  flowers  of  the 
season  on  the  French  knights.  These,  in  return,  whether 
young  or  old,  turned  their  heads  right  and  left  like  a 
pendulum,  and  every  time  they  discovered  a  pretty  face, 
they  would  smile,  salute  it  with  a  hand  to  their  lips,  or 
throw  back  the  flowers  that  had  been  showered  on  them. 
In  one  street  was  heard  music  and  singing  and  women 
were  seen  dancing,  and  men  drinking  and  merry-mak- 
ing. In  another  stood  a  juggler,  astonishing  with  his 
tricks  the  crowd  of  bystanders,  until  he  passed  his  hat 
around,  crying  "  largess  ;  "  when  they  would  all  disperse 
right  and  left,  seeking  another  one  who  had  not  yet  arrived 
at  that  conclusion.  Elsewhere,  in  the  centre  of  a  square, 
mounted  upon  a  table,  with  a  torch  at  his  feet  and  a 
lute  on  his  shoulder,  stood  the  charlatan,*  as  perhaps 

*  The  name  of  charlatan  is  derived  from  those  wandering  minstrels, 
who,  like  the  ancient  Rhapsodys,  went  from  city  to  city  singing  of 
Charlemagne ;  hence  the  word  Carlocantare,  afterwards  Carloto- 
nare,  and  finally,  with  a  further  corruption,  Ciarlatattare,  and 
Ciarlatano,  a  charlatan. 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  181 

did  the  poor  blind  Homer  in  ancient  times,  singing  the 
deeds  of  Charlemagne,  of  Roland,  and  the  other  paladins. 
Among  all  that  crowd  intent  on  amusement,  you  might 
perceive  the  cut-purse,  like  a  snake  in  the  grass,  gliding 
with  stealthy  steps,  avoiding  the  light,  watching  the  chance 
to  pounce  on  the  unwary ;  for  we  must  be  convinced, 
that  ever  since  men  had  a  head  to  think,  and  a  hand  to 
steal,  there  have  been  thieves,  and  that  these  are  the 
usual  followers  of  great  lords  when  they  enter  with  great 
pomp  in  some  city.  Thus,  passing  through  many  and  dif- 
ferent spectacles  of  rejoicing,  the  pontiff,  the  count  and 
countess,  with  the  principal  barons,  arrived  at  the  Lateran 
palace.  The  army  had  already  been  partitioned  among 
the  different  quarters  prepared  for  it  by  the  Roman  mu- 
nicipality. Charles,  after  supper,  feeling  tired,  was  wait- 
ing for  the  pope  to  give  the  signal  for  retiring,  but  he 
dared  not  to  ask-  for  it.  Clement  did  not  wish  him  to  lodge 
in  his  palace,  yet  he  dared  not  tell  him  so ;  but  finally, 
considering  that  it  belonged  to  him  to  speak,  he  rose  from 
the  table,  and  said  :  "  Count,  we  desire  you  to  know 
that  no  catholic  prince,  no  matter  how  great  or  powerful, 
has  ever  been  lodged  in  this  our  palace  of  the  LateVan, 
and  this  we  hold  not  as  a  respect  due  us,  who  are  the  ser- 
vant of  the  servants  of  the  Lord,  but  to  the  Most  High, 
whose  Vicegerent  we  are.  We  do  not  intend  to  revoke 
what  has  been  established  with  so  much  wisdom  by  our 
predecessors,  and  followed  by  so  many  emperors ;  there- 
fore, most  beloved  son,  you  must  depart  without  murmur. 
Our  city  abounds  with  palaces  not  less  beautiful  or  rich 
than  this  of  ours.  In  thus  dismissing  you,  we  do  not  intend 
to  mortify  you,  but  to  show  to  the  world  the  high  fame 
which  you  deservedly  enjoy  of  being  the  most  obedient 
son  of  Holy  Mother  Church." 

Charles,  although  he  was  not  well  disposed  to  bear  the 
papal  arrogance,  as  he  showed  a  few  years  afterwards  by 
the  proud  reply  he  gave  to  Nicholas  III.  of  the  Orsini 
family,  on  this  occasion  took  leave  with  a  cheerful  counte- 
nance, and  went  to  lodge  somewhere  else.  The  Count  of 
Provence,  as  a  wise  man,  thought  that  it  was  of  little 


1 82          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

consequence  to  submit  once  to  another's  will,  in  order  to 
have  it  all  his  own  way  afterwards. 

On  the  following  day,  the  pontiff  and  the  count  met 
togetlver,  and  agreed  upon  many  points  that  had  been  left 
unsettled  by  their  ministers,  who  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  they  would  agree  more  readily  in  a  personal 
interview.  What  were  their  conversation  and  their  agree- 
ments is  a  subject  for  the  historians  :  it  is  enough  for 
us  to  state  that  they  agreed.  After  their  meeting,  heralds 
went  about  the  city,  with  the  following  proclamation  : 
"  On  the  approaching  feast  of  the  Epiphany,  Monseigneur 
Charles  and  Lady  Beatrice,  Count  and  Countess  of 
Provence,  will  be  crowned  King  and  Queen  of  Sicily, 
by  the  hand  of  His  Holiness  Clement  IV.,  Most  Glorious 
Pontiff  of  Rome,  in  the  Basilica  of  St.  John  Lateran  ; 
that  for  three  days  there  will  be  held  a  great  open  Court, 
the  last  the  greatest  of  all,  with  the  privilege  to  every 
knight  that  bears  arms  of  attending  it;  that  every  day 
after  the  dinner  there  will  be  opened  a  tournament,  the 
challengers  of  which  were  Monseigneur  Guy  of  Montfort, 
Guillaume  1'Etendard,  Boccard  and  Jouan,  Counts  of  Van- 
damme,  Pier  de  Bilmont,  Mirepoix  the.  Seneschal,  Jouan 
cle  Bresilles,  and  Louis  Jonville  ;  that  all  the  knights  that 
desired  to  joust  against  them  should  carry  their  chal- 
lenge to  the  cloister  of  St.  Paul,  whefe  from  sunrise  till 
sunset  there  would  be  exposed  the  escutcheons  of  the 
challengers  ;  and  that  Countess  Beatrice,  queen  of  the 
tournament,  and  Giles  Lebrun,  constable  of  the  field, 
would  take  note  of  the  armorial  devices,  and  the  names 
of  the  knights  that  presented  themselves,  etc." 

The  first  rays  of  the  sun  had  hardly  lighted  our  hemi- 
sphere, when  a  crowd  of  people  were  gathered  the  next  day 
around  the  gates  of  the  monastery  of  St.  Paul,  awaiting 
anxiously  their  opening.  After  long  waiting  they  were 
opened  to  the  curiosity  of  the  people,  who  in  a  moment 
filled  the  vast  enclosure  of  the  cloister.  It  was  a  beauti- 
ful architecture  of  those  times,  divided  in  four  equal  parts, 
with  arcades  composed  of  several  pointed  arches,  and 
very  delicate  fluted  columns  ;  the  interior  parts  divided  in 
several  pictures,  representing,  by  the  least  bloody  frescos 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.          183 

that  in  those  days  they  knew  how  to  paint,  the  principal 
acts  of  the  glorious  apostle :  among  which  was  most 
praised  the  one  representing  the  saint  in  the  hands  of  his 
torturers,  who  were  using  all  their  ^efforts  to  stretch  him 
on  the  ground  in  order  to  flagellate  him.  Nor  were  the 
acts  of  St.  Paul  alone  painted  there  :  there  was  a  portrait 
of  Adam  tilling  the  ground — with  a  beautiful  iron  hoe ; 
a  Last  Judgment,  where  certain  diminutive  devils  carried 
off  the  souls  in  the  form  of  little  babies  from  the  mouths 
of  knights,  kings,  nuns,  monks,  and  even  from  that  of  a 
pope — in  fine,  a  Last  Judgment  very  similar  to  the  other 
painted  by  Andrea  Orgagna  upon  the  walls  of  the  ceme- 
tery of  Pisa ;  and  such  like.  Along  the  walls  stood  the 
marble  sarcophagi  of  the  defunct  great  lords,  carved  with 
figures  that  the  monks  of  the  place  called  Jmman.  On 
their  lids  stood  statues  of  those  that  were  enclosed  with- 
in :  here  a  woman  with  her  arms  crossed  on  her  breast, 
the  head  leaning  back,  the  eyes  shut  as  if  dead ;  there 
a  magistrate  dressed  in  his  toga,  sitting  on  one  side,  with 
his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  the  face  bent  down,  as  if 
in  deep  meditation  ;  further  on  a  knight,  armed  cap-a-pie 
with  a  naked  sword  in  his  hand,  expiring  over  a  pile  of 
trophies ; — the  common  dead,  without  a  stone,  without 
an  epitaph  that  would  recall  them  to  the  love  of  their 
living  posterity,  were  promiscuously  buried  under  the 
pavement  of  the  porticos.  .  .  .  Because,  whether  alive  or 
dead,  the  common  people  were  ever  destined  to  serve  as 
a  pavement  to  be  trampled  upon  ;  but  since  they  are 
pleased  to  remain  so,  I  have  nothing  to  say  about  it. 
Trahit  sua  quemque  voluptas.  (Every  one  is  attracted 
by  his  peculiar  pleasure.) 

On  the  side  opposite  to  the  gate  from  which  one  en- 
tered, upon  a  platform  covered  with  crimson  velvet,  rose  a 
spear,  and  upon  jt  was  hung  a  most  splendid  suit  of  armor. 
At  the  foot  of  the  spear  stood  four  cups  full  of  golden 
besants,  the  prize  of  the  conqueror  of  the  tournament. 
Beside  this,  but  fixed  in  the  ground,  rose  eight  lances, 
from  each  of  which  hung  the  shield  with  the  name 
and  device  of  the  knight  to  whom  it  belonged  :  the  first 
one  said  Montfort,  and.  the  device  was  a  woman  re- 


1 84         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

versed.  And  here  we  must  note  that,  in  those  times,  it 
was  the  greatest  ipsult  to  carry  the  image  of  another,  head 
downward  on  the  shield  ;  so  that  the  proud  Montfort,  de- 
siring to  show  in  some  manner  his  contempt  for  Italy,  had 
meant  it  in  the  figure  of  the  woman  as  described  above. 
In  the  second  there  was  written  Etendard,  and  the  devices 
were,  azure,  dexter  and  sinister  arms  rambrased,  conped, 
with  hammers  in  their  hands  striking  upon  an  anvil,  with 
the  motto,  //  nnll  not  break  by  hammering  :  in  the  third 
and  fourth,  Vandamme ;  one  was  sable,  seme  with  roundlets, 
argent,  and  was  a  gift  of  the  lady  of  his  thoughts, 
meaning  by  this  to  signify  the  tears  that  she  would  shed 
during  his  absence  ;  the  other  was  vert,  a  man's  heart 
sanguine  in  the  midst  of  flames,  gules,  pierced  through 
by  an  arrow  or,  similar  to  those  which  our  modern  lovers 
place  on  the  top  of  their  erotic  letters  ;  the  fifth  said  Bil- 
mont,  and  for  device  had  azure,  wind  striving  to  put  out  a 
fire,  gules,  with  the  motto,  By  plowing  I  will  not  be  put  out; 
the  sixth  Mirepoix,  the  device  vert,  a  turtle  passant,  with 
the  Latin  motto,  Tarde  sed  tuto ;  the  seventh  Bresilles, 
having  for  device  purpure,  a  hound  courant  with  a  hare 
in  his  mouth.  The  last  was  all  argent,  as  was  the  custom 
of  new-made  knights  in  their  first  year  of  knighthood,  and 
belonged  to  the  young  Jonville.  Immediately  beyond  these 
lances  there  was  a  long  table  covered  by  a  rich  carpet, 
around  which  were  seated  the  most  beautiful  Roman 
and  French  ladies,  ordinary  judges  of  these  kinds  of  fights, 
and ;  the  Countess  Beatrice  in  a  more  elevated  seat  as 
queen.  The  constable  Giles  Lebrun  held  a  parchment 
book  on  a  little  stool  at  the  foot  of  the  table  to  inscribe 
the  names,  and  describe  the  armorial  devices  of  those 
that  presented  themselves  for  the  tournament.  The  other 
knights,  some  in  armor,  some  clothed  in  rich  silk  doub- 
lets, stood  all  around  them. 

The  ninth  hour  had  already  passed,  and  no  one  had  yet 
presented  himself  to  accept  the  challenge  ;  the  fame  of  these 
French  knights  was  so  great  that  no  one  dared  to  oppose 
them.  Guy  de  Montfort,  dressed  in  a  leathern  doublet, 
moved  about  among  his  brothers^of  arms,  and  from  time 
to  time  would  say,  smiling,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ?  " 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt  185 

The  people  that  had  collected  to  see  the  sight  stood 
fixed  at  the  distance  of  four  or  six  yards  from  the  es- 
cutcheons of  the  challengers,  as  if  a  magic  line  kept 
them  from  coming  forward.  The  Roman  ladies  stared 
towards  the  crowd  to  discover  some  of  their  admirers, 
and  noticing  none,  lowered  their  heads  in  shame  ;  the 
French  exulted  over  the  shame  of  Italy. 

The  crowd  is  pushed  back,  and  there  appears  a  knight 
of  noble  mien  with  the  visor  lowered,  carrying  a  shield 
with  a  device  similar  to  that  of  Montfort,  a  figure  of 
Italia,  only  in  its  natural  position.  After  saluting  the 
ladies,  he  struck  with  the  point  of  his  lance  the  insulting 
device  of  Montfort.  At  the  same  moment  he  noticed 
another  lance  of  a  wonderful  size,  stained  with  marks  of 
clotted  blood,  strike  the  same  device,  so  that  he  turned' 
his  head,  and  perceived  a  knight  all  covered  with  mail, 
his  visor  down,  who  carried  for  device  azure  a  thunder- 
bolt sanguine,  that  falling  from  the  clouds  destroyed  a 
tower  or  with  the  motto  :  It  falls  from  a  hidden  hand. 

"  Sir  Knights,"  said  Constable  Lebrun  to  the  two  who 
had  presented  themselves,  "  we  desire  to  notify  you  that 
although  it  is  in  our  power  to  accept  the  challenge  d  toute 
entrance,  yet  we  would  prefer  that  there  should  be  no 
bloodshed." 

"  Truly,"  added  Montfort,  "  I  also  advise  you  to  do 
what  Monseigneur  the  constable  says,  my  knights,  for  I  do 
not  desire  that  on  my  account  any  lady  should  shed  tears." 

"  If  you  do  not  desire  to  run  the  risk  of  accepting,  the 
challenge  a  toute  entrance"  replied  the  knight  of  Italia, 
"you  have  only  to  beg  us  in  the  presence  of  these  ladies, 
and  we  will  change  it  into  premier  sang." 

"  Sang  bleu  !  "  cried  Montfort,  "  was  there  ever  heard 
such  impudence  ?  Write,  constable,  write  their  sentence 
of  death.  Mind  though,  my  knights,  that  I  will  still^ 
grant  you  time  to  retract." 

"Count,"  said  the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  "look  if 
you  please  at  the  point  of  my  lance ;  is  it  not  blood  that 
stains  it  ?  And  mark,  it  is  not  mine,  that  blood." 

"  If  deeds  correspond  to  words,"  -added  Montfort,  "  I 
hope  to  derive  some  honor  from  your  defeat." 


1 86         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

"  Or  perhaps  you  will  curse  the  day  that  you  challenged 
a  tournament,"  replied  the  knight  of  Italia. 

"  Cavaliers,"  spoke  the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  turn- 
ing to  the  challengers,  "  boasts  do  not  conquer  in  trials 
of  arms,  and  are  highly  unsuited  to  noble  knights ;  let 
every  one  do  the  best  he  can  ;  victory  will  be  to  him 
to  whom  God  will  grant  it  .  .  ." 

"  To  him  to  whom  the  lance  will  grant  it,  you  ought 
to  say,  knight,"  replied  Montfort. 

"As  you  wish,  monseigneur  le  count.  Constable, 
please  describe  my  device,  for  I  desire  my  name  to  be 
hidden." 

"  And  what  shall  I  write  of  you  ?  "  asked  Lebrun  to  the 
knight  of  Italia,  after  he  had  taken  down  the  device  of 
the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt. 

"•  Describe  also  my  device." 

"  Prudent  thought  when  one  foresees  his  defeat,"  said 
Montfort,  smilingly  ;  "  in  this  manner  one  throws  away  his 
shield  and  his  shame." 

"Noble  knights,  our  challengers  are  eight,  while  you 
are  only  two,"  said  the  constable;  "  do  you  alone  wish  to 
sustain  the  attack  of  all  ?  " 

"  Have  you  any  companions?"  asked  the  knight  of  the 
thunderbolt  to  the  knight  of  Italia. 

"  I  have  my  heart,  my  sword,  my  lance,  my  battle-axe, 
each  of  these  is  worth  a  Frenchman.  You  have  them  also, 
so  we  are  on  a  par." 

Montfort  ground  his  teeth  with  rage,  and  his  eyes 
rolled  fiercely.  The  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  shaking  his 
head,  said :  "  Behold,  we  have  said  more  than  necessary 
for  a  joust  d,  toute  outrance.  Knight,  if  you  are  as  brave 
as  bold,  I  hope  in  God  we  shall  have  victory  :  nevertheless 
I  desire  that  on  our  side  there  should  be  eight  also,  for 
fhough  man  ought  to  trust  much  in  himself,  yet  he  must  not 
presume.  Now,  monseigneur  constable,  I  will  bring  the 
other  six :  their  device  will  be  sable,  a  star  or. 

Saying  this,  without  saluting,  without  bowing,  he  turned 
towards  the  crowd,  which  wondering  stood  back  to  let 
that  giant  pass,  who  in  a  moment  disappeared.  The 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.          187 

knight  of  Italia,  bending  low  in  a  courteous  manner  to 
the  ladies,  who  willingly  stared  at  him,  also  retired. 

Having  broken  the  ice,  so  to  say,  and  roused  up 
Italian  valor,  there  were  seen  coining  forward  many  other 
knights,  who,  with  the  lances  or  without  them,  struck  the 
shields  of  the  challengers,  so  that  by  sunset  the  book  of 
the  constable  was  full  of  names  and  descriptions  of  devices. 
Montfort,  frowning,  said  not  a  word ;  Lebrun  closing  the 
book,  turned  to  him,  saying  :  "  Do  you  know,  count,  what 
the  proverb  says  ?  " 

"  What  have  I  got  to  do  with  your  proverbs?  " 

"  You  will  acquire  wisdom  by  them  :  '  After  you  of- 
fend, kill:  " 

"  I  have  done  the  first  to-day ;  to-morrow  I  will  do  the 
other." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  if  saying  it  were  the  same  as 
doing  it ;  but  those  knights  did  not  look  as  if  they  would 
yield  so  readily.  You  will  find  out  that  it  will  take  more 
than  two  mouthfuls  to  eat  them  up." 

"  That  is  because  sixty  years  see  differently  from  forty ; 
and  you  now,  lord  constable,  are  more  fit  to  quote  pro- 
verbs than  wield  a  sword." 

Giles  Lebrun,  a  knight  sans  feur  et  sans  reproche,  hear- 
ing that  insulting  reply,  raised  his  head  as  in  the  days  of 
his  youth,  shook  fiercely  his  hair,  snow-white  with  honor- 
able old  age,  and  thought  of  striking  the  insolent  in  the 
face.  Montfort,  however,  caring  little  whether  his  remark 
had  pleased  him  or  not,  had  already  gone  away.  Prudence 
advised  Lebrun  not  to  raise  any  scandal  on  the  pres- 
ent occasion,  but  revenge  impressed  the  insult  in  his 
heart. 


On  the  sixth  of  January,  A.D.  1266,  a  splendid  assem-. 
blage  of  prelates,  magistrates  and  knights,  both  Italians 
and  French,  preceded  by  the  sound  of  trumpets,  present- 
ed themselves  at  the  residence  of  the  Count  of  Provence 
to  conduct  him  to  the  Lateran,  where  the  pontiff  waited  for 
him.  Never  did  a  war  horse  show  so  fiercely  his  internal 
joy  at  the  sound  of  the  charge,  as  did  now  Beatrice  at 


1 88         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

the  sound  of  those  trumpets  that  announced  her  approach- 
ing coronation.  Interrupting  hastily  her  toilet,  she  rushed 
impetuously  toward  the  door  to  go  out,  although  not  yet 
half  dressed.  Charles  took  her  by  the  arm,  and  leading 
her  back  to  the  place  whence  she  had  come,  with  a  mild 
voice  said,  "Madame,  restrain  yourself:  receiving  the 
crown  from  the  pontiff  does  not  signify  to  be  a  queen." 

The  grand  mass  was  celebrated  by  Pope  Clement,  as- 
sisted by  Rodolphus,  Bishop  of  Albano,  Archerius  of  St. 
Pressede,  Richard  of  St.  Angiolo,  Godfrey  of  St.  George, 
and  Matthew  of  St.  Mary  in  Portico,  cardinal  deacons. 
The  Count  and  Countess  of  Provence,  dressed  in  plain 
white,  are  kneeling  upon  rich  cushions.  After  the  mass 
was  over,  the  Cardinals  Archerius  and  Rodolphus  accosted 
Charles,  Richard  and  Godfrey,  Beatrice,  and  led  them  to 
the  foot  of  the  altar.  Clement  took  the  bull  of  investi- 
ture from  the  altar,  and  read  with  a  loud  voice,  "  We, 
Pope  Clement  IV.,  servant  of  the  servants  of  God,  by  the 
power  delegated  to  us  by  Jesus  Christ,  and  by  the  prince 
of  the  apostles,  Saint  Peter,  to  provide  for  the  greater  glory 
of  the  Church  committed  to  our  care  by  the  Omnipotent 
Goodness,  ordain  that  Manfred  of  Swabia  be  considered 
dethroned  from  the  Kingdom  of  Sicily,  its  jurisdic- 
tions, appurtenances,  fiefs,  etc.,  and  the  sentence  of 
excommunication,  pronounced  against  him  by  our  pre- 
decessors, we,  by  these  presents,  confirm.  We  grant 
the  investiture  of  this  same  kingdom  to  our  most  be- 
loved son,  Charles,  Count  of  Provence  (excepting  the 
city  of  Benevento,  with  all  its  territory  and  appurtenances), 
to  his  heirs  both  male  and  female ;  but  if  the  males  are 
living,  females  are  excluded  ;  and  among  the  males  the 
first-born  is  to  succeed.  Should  these  fail,  or  the  condi- 
tions agreed  upon  not  be  fulfilled,  then  the  kingdom  is  to 
revert  to  the  Church.  The  conditions  are,  that  the 
kingdom  shall  not  be  divided  ;  that  they  shall  swear  al- 
legiance, homage  and  fealty  to  the  Church  ;  that  if  the  king 
is  elected  emperor,  or  sovereign  of  Lombardy  or  Ti^cany, 
he  shall  renounce  the  kingdom  within  four  months ; 
that  if  the  king  has  completed  his  eighteenth  year,  he 
shall  administer  himself;  if  a  minor,  he  shall  put  him- 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.          189 

self  under  the  tutelage  of  the  Church  ;  that  annually,  on 
the  eve  of  the  Saints  Peter  and  Paul,  he  shall  pay  a 
rent  of  eight  thousand  ounces  of  gold,  and  a  handsome, 
sound  and  white  palfrey ;  that,  at  the  demand  of  the 
pontiff,  he  shall  send  as  subsidy  to  the  Church  three- 
hundred  men-at-arms  paid  for  three  months,  or  these 
be  commuted  in  auxiliary  ships ;  that  the  king  and  his 
successors  shall  not  interfere  in  the  elections  or  no- 
minations of  prelates,  except  in  the  case  when  it  belongs 
to  them,  by  right  of  juspatronato ;  that  no -tax  shall  be 
imposed  on  the  property  of  the  Church  ;  that  they  shall 
hold  ready  one  thousand  knights  for  the  Holy  Land,  etc., 
etc."  * 

Charles,  who  had  listened  to  all  these  conditions  with 
no  intention  in  his  mind  of  keeping  even  one  of  them,  ma- 
jestically replied  :  "  We,  Charles  of  France,  by  the  grace 
of  God  Count  of  Anjou,  of  Folcacchieri,  Provence  and 
Languedoc,  King  of  Sicily,  of  the  Duchy  of  Apulia,  of  the 
Princedom  of  Capua,  do  loyal  homage  to  you,  Clement 
Pontiff  IV. ;  and  in  your  name,  to  your  successors,  for  the 
kingdom  of  Sicily  and  all  the  land  that  is  on  this  side  of 
the  strait  to  the  frontiers  (excepting  the  city  and  county 
of  Benevento,  its  district  and  appurtenances),  granted  to 
us  and  to  our  successors  by  the  aforesaid  Roman  Church  ; 
we  ratify  all  the  conditions  expressed  in  the  bull,  and 
promise  and  swear  to  observe  and  to  have  them 
observed." 

Matthew,  cardinal  deacon,  taking  the  book  of  the  Gos- 
pels, opened  it  before  the  count  and  countess,  who  placed 
their  right  hands  over  it ;  Clement,  taking  from  the  altar 
two  royal  crimson  mantles  lined  with  ermine,  handed 
them  to  the  cardinals,  who  placed  them  on  the  shoulders 
of  Charles  and  Beatrice ;  they,  immediately  after,  kneel- 
ing upon  the  steps  of  the  altar,  received  from  the  hands 
of  the  pope  the  holy  anointment,  and  the  royal  crowns 
that  Cardinal  Matthew  presented  in  a  silver  tray.  Bea- 


*  Many  other  conditions  were  added  to  the  above,  which  we  have 
omitted  for  brevity.  See  the  original  in  Giannone's  History  of 
Naples. 


190          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

trice  trembled,  grew  pale,  a  tear  broke  forth  from  her  eyes, 
and  fell  almost  prostrated  upon  the  pavement.  Charles, 
impassible,  had  his  mind  turned  more  than  to  the  present 
ceremony,  to  the  means  of  acquiring  the  kingdom  of 
which  he  at  present  had  only  the  crown.  The  pontiff, 
having  crowned  them,  let  himself  also  fall  on  his  knees, 
and  raising  his  arms  invoked  the  Holy  Ghost,  Veni  Creator 
Spiritus  ;  the  people  replied  with  tumultuous  cheerings ; 
the  bells  sending  forth  merry  peals  announced  that  the 
ceremony  was  ended ;  the  trumpets  added  to  the  deafening 
sounds  :  "  Long  live  King  Charles  /  "  "  Long  live  Queen 
Beatrice  1 "  "  Long  live  ths  Sovereigns  of  Sicily  !  "  And 
the  uproar  was  such  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  church  would 
tumble  down ;  yet,  among  so  many  voices  that  cheered, 
there  was  heard  a  cry  which  said  :  '•'•Death  to  the  foreig- 
ner !  "  This  cry  was  so  terrible  and  sonorous,  th'at  every 
one  turned  around,  surely  imagining  to  have  at  his  side 
the  man  who  had  dared  so  much.  But,  upon  the  lips  of 
his  neighbor  there  was  heard  only  the  last  syllable  of 
"  Long  live  Charles  I "  Many  suspected  that  it  came 
from  the  roof,  and  raised  their  eyes  upwards  ;  nor  did  the 
cry  escape  the  ears  of  Charle's,  and  it  was  a  death  sen- 
tence for  many  thousands  of  people  that  he  sacrificed 
afterwards  to  appease  his  suspicious  mind.  Clement, 
after  having  finished  the  prayer,  descended  from  the  al- 
tar, kissed  the  king  on  the  forehead,  embraced  the  queen, 
and  then  said,  "  En  uncti  Domini  et  reges  estis.  Sicut 
rugitus  /eon  is,  ita  est  terror  regis  ;  qui  provocat  eum  fee- 
cat  in  animam  suam  :  sed  sicut  divisiones  acquarum,  ita 
cor  regis  in  manu  Domini.  Pax  vobiscum."  * 

Amidst  the  applause  of  the  Roman  crowd,  the  new 
sovereigns  returned  to  the  Lateran  Palace,  where  they 
sumptuously  dined  ;  the  pontiff  sat  between  them  at  din- 
ner, but  in  a  more  elevated  seat,  as  it  behooved  his  ex- 
alted condition.  After  dinner  they  proceeded,  acconi- 


*  "  Behold,  you  are  king  and  anointed  of  the  Lord.  The  terror 
of  the  king  is  like  the  roar  of  the  lion ;  he  who  provokes  it  sins 
against  his  own  soul ;  but,  like  rivers  of  water,  the  heart  of  the 
king  is  in  the  hands  of  God.  Peace  be  with  you  1 " 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  191 

panied  by  the  same  court  of  the  morning,  to  the  square 
of  St.  Paul,  which  was  arranged  for  the  use  of  tournaments. 
Here  the  Roman  youth  used  to  exercise  daily  in  certain 
jousts  that  were  fought  with  wooden  lances,  called  ba- 
gordi ;  and  would  it  had  pleased  God  that  in  those 
days  our  Italy  had  had  wisdom  of  intellect,  as  she  had 
strength  of  arms  !  It  was  an  oval  inclosure,  surrounded 
by  a  deep  ditch  four  or  five  yards  wide,  which  on  those 
occasions  was  filled  with  water.  Towards  the  farther  ex- 
tremities it  was  marked  by  a  straight  line,  and  the  space 
between  this  and  the  end  of  the  field  was  used  for 
the  sergeants-at-arms,  the  heralds,  the  constables,  and 
other  officers  necessary  to  this  kind  of  combats.  Around 
the  ditch  had  been  raised  pavilions  adorned  with  splendid 
carpets,  among  which,  as  every  one  can  imagine,  was 
distinguished  that  of  Charles,  for  the  richness  of  its  golden 
hangings,  and  by  flags  of  a  thousand  colors.  Handsome 
young  ladies  richly  dressed,  and  with  a  flush  in  their  faces, 
sat  dignifiedly,  anxious  for  a  salute  on  the  part  of  the 
fighting  knights  that  might  distinguish  them.  Around  the 
stockade  crowded  the  stupid  and  fierce  rabble,  pushing 
each  other  to  see  better  ;  nor  were  the  blows  of  the  hal- 
berds of  the  rough  soldiers  enough  to  keep  it  in  order. 
At  a  signal  from  Charles,  there  was  sounded  a  horn  ; 
all  the  spectators  were  struck  by  a  thrill  of  fear  and 
hope ;  a  profound  silence  ensued  all  around.  It 
sounded  the  second  time,  then  the  third.  Then  there 
were  lowered  two  small  bridges  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
square,  and  the  knights  two  by  two  passed  over  the  ditch. 
Constable  Giles  Lebrun,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
field,  ordered  the  knights  to  approach,  and  swear  upon 
the  Evangelists  that  they  would  fight  honorably,  without 
frauds  or  witchcrafts ;  that  their  weapons  -were  not 
charmed,  and  that  they  would  invoke  no  other  aid 
than  that  of  God  and  the  most  holy  Virgin  ;  then  he  re- 
minded them  that  they  were  not  to  wound  the  horses. 
He  then  apportioned  to  each  party  the  advantage  of  the 
wind  and  sun  ;  this  done,  he  retired  to  the  extreme  right 
of  the  field  near  the  pavilion  of  King  Charles,  better  to 
receive  his  orders ;  and  there  he  remained  immovable  as 


192          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

the  statue  of  the  Commendador.  Near  him  were  placed 
the  prizes  of  the  tournament.  The  other  two  minor  con- 
stables, and  the  heralds,  placed  themselves  at  the  entrances 
of  the  square  we  have  described,  near  the  two  bridges. 
The  knights  formed  in  a  line  opposite  to  each  other  and 
awaited  the  signal.  Giles  Lebrun  lowered  his  lance,  and 
the  knights  rushed  to  the  charge.  Shameful  to  relate, 
six  Italian  knights  fell  unhorsed  at  the  first  encounter. 
Only  the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt  and  of  Italia  re- 
mained in  their  saddles ;  but,  as  if  terrified  by  sudden 
fear,  they  turned  their  horses  towards  the  lists.  There 
rose  of  a  sudden  a  great  burst  of  laughter  as  in  mockery 
of  the  conquered,  and  a  clapping  of  hands  for  the  con- 
querors, and  such  an  uproar  and  stamping  of  feet  as 
deafened  the  people.  The  ladies  waved  their  scarfs ; 
Charles  rejoiced  in  his  heart  that  the  reputation  of  the 
French  arms  would  be  held  up  by  the  fear  of  the  Italians. 

"Are  you  an  Italian  ?"  asked  the  knight  of  the  thun- 
derbolt of  the  knight  of  Italia. 

"  I  am." 

"  And  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"  Conquer,  or  die." 

"  Let  us  then  teach  these  proud  ones,  that  we  two  are 
enough  for  all  of  them." 

At  the  same  moment  they  turned  the  heads  of  their 
horses.  The  spectators,  in  expectation  of  new  prowess, 
were  silent.  Transported  by  the  impetus  of  their  horses, 
the  challengers  who  first  met  the  enemies'  lances  were 
Bilmont  and  Bresilles :  this  latter,  hit  by  the  knight 
of  Italia,  is  thrown  to  the  ground  in  a  heap ;  the  former 
is  wounded  by  the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt  by  such  a 
blow  of  the  lance,  that,  breaking  his  visor,  it  pierced 
through  td  the  back  of  his  neck,  lifted  him  from  his  horse, 
and  hurled  him  a  corpse  far  from  the  field.  The  two 
Italian  knights,  lowering  again  their  lances,  and  continuing 
their  course,  met  Mirepoix  the  Seneschal,  and  Jonville  the 
young  knight ;  Mirepoix  and  his  horse  are  overturned  by 
the  spear  of  the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  and  the  weight 
of  the  animal  breaks  a  leg  of  the  fallen  knight,  who  is 
carried  out  of  the  field  by  the  sergeants-at-arms.  Jonville, 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  193 

although  home  down'by  a  blow  on  the  helmet  till  his 
shoulders  touched  the  back  of  his  horse,  his  lance  drop- 
ping from  his  hand  with  the  pain,  yet  drew  his  sword  and 
wanted  to  recommence  the  encounter.  The  knight  of  the 
thunderbolt  spurred  his  horse  upon  him,  and  took  aim  at 
his  side.  Woe  to  Jonville  if  he  had  struck  him,  for  he 
nevermore  would  have  worn  mail  or  helmet ;  but  the 
knight  of  Italia,  seeing  him  approach,  watched  his  chance 
and  gave  such  a  hlovv  upon  his  lance,  that,  turning  it  from 
its  aim,  it  pierced  the  side  of  the  horse,  nor  did  it  stop  till 
it  appeared,  bloody,  on  the  other  side.  Jonville  staggered 
at ., such  a  blow,  and  considering  his  life  saved  by  the 
courtesy  of  the  knight  of  Italia,  delivering  him  his  sword, 
said,  "  Sir  Knight,  your  courtesy  has  conquered  me." 

"  Leave  the  field,  and  hold  yourself  my  prisoner  en 
parole" 

The  brothers  Vandamme,  noble  jousters  and  full  of 
courage,  ill  brooking  that  affront,  advanced  bravely  to 
avenge  it.  The  one  who  held  the  black  shield  with  silver 
drops,  strikes  the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  pierces 
through  his  shield,  and  passes  by  without  being  able  to 
withdraw  his  lance.  The  knight  so  hit  did  not  bend  an 
inch  from  his  horse,  but  missed  his  blow,  which  did  not 
hit  the  body  of  his  adversary ;  a  thing  which  usually 
happens  to  poor  jousters,  or  those  out  of  practice,  in- 
flamed with  anger,  he  seized  his  iron  mace  that  hung  from 
his  saddle,  and  hurled  it  with  such  precision  upon  the 
flying  Vandamme,  that  it  broke  his  helmet,  steel  cap 
and  visor ;  his  head  escaped  by  miracle,  only  that  the 
impetus  of  the  mace  grazed  his  skin,  and  carried  off 
some  locks  of  his  hair.  The  knight  of  the  thunderbolt, 
whom  victory  seemed  to  have  rendered  more  fierce,  rushed 
upon  Vandamme,  who,  stunned  by  the  blow,  half  blinded, 
was  staggering  on  his  saddle,  seized  him  by  the  throat, 
dragged  him  from  his  horse,  and  then  .spurred  towards 
the  ditch  to  drown  him  there.  A  cry  of  rage  was  raised 
at  that  act,  and  Montfort,  with  1'Etendard,  rushed  down 
to  save  their  ill-fated  companion.  The  knight  of  Italia 
was  now  more  fortunate  than  before,  because,  while  his 
adversary,  struck  by  a  powerful  blow,  endeavored,  by 
9 


194         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

strongly  pressing  his  knees,  not  tt>  lose  his  stirrups,  the 
straps  of  his  saddle  snapped,  and  he  fell  headlong  to  the 
ground.  The  horse  left  to  himself,  was  on  the  point  of 
running  about  the  field,  when  the  conquering  knight  seized 
him  by  the  bit,  and  courteously  led  him  back  to  the  con- 
quered. 

"  Sir  Knight,  dismount,  and  let  us  exchange  some 
blows  with  our  swords,  since  the  horse  cannot  serve  me 
any  more,  at  least  for  to-day,"  said  Vandamme. 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  knight  of  Italia,  "  willingly  would  I 
do  your  pleasure,  but  need  calls  me  elsewhere.  I  see 
that  my  companion  is  assailed  by  two  knights,  and  I  can- 
not leave  him  alone ;  we  brought  our  challenge  d  toute 
oytran.ee  against  Montfort,  not  against  you." 

"  Sir  Knight,  I  cannot  acknowledge  myself  conquered 
to-day  without  a  condition." 

"  Name  it." 

"That  you  will  meet  me  again  to-morrow.  Will  you 
promise  it  ?  " 

"  I  promise  it,  if  there  is  no  impediment  in  the  way." 

After  these  words  the  knight  of  Italia  rode  to  the  as- 
sistance of  his  companion,  who,  assailed  by  Montfort 
with  a  heavy  blow  of  the  spear  on  his  right  shoulder,  had 
been  obliged  to  let  go  his  hold  of  Vandamme,  and  lean 
to  the  left  so  far,  that  if  he  had  not  stuck  his  spear  in 
the  ground  he  would  certainly  have  fallen  ;  but  he  raised 
himself  so  quickly  that  PEtendard,  having  taken  too  low  an 
aim  to  strike  at  him,  hit  the  ground  instead.  The  knight 
of  Italia  arriving  at  full  gallop,  struck  1'Etendard  on 
his  shoulders  so  violently,  that  the  latter,  smiting  with  his 
face  on  the  armor  of  the  horse's  neck,  received  a  fearful 
contusion  on  the  nose,  and  two  or  three  mails  of  his  visor 
lodged  in  the  flesh  of  his  cheek.  Continuing  still  on  his 
career  he  assails  Montfort,  and  breaks  his  lance  on  his 
shield  ;  then  drawing  his  sword,  thunders  blows  on  him, 
and  endeavors  to  keep  him  at  close  quarters,  so  that  he 
may  not  make  use  of  his  lance. 

At  that  moment  there  happened  a  wonderful  event :  the 
horse  of  the  knight  of  Italia^  from  being  all  black,  ap- 
peared suddenly  spotted  with  large  white  spots. 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  195 

"Ah,  disloyal  knight !"  cried  Montfort,  terrified,  "you 
are  charmed}  Constable!" 

"  Count,  do  you  intend  to  cover  the  shame  of  your 
defeat  with  the  errors  of  the  superstitious  crowd  ?  Do 
so  if  you  consider  it  honorable ;  but  if  you  come  near 
you  can  easily  perceive  that  I  have  painted  my  horse  in 
order  that  it  may  not  be  recognized,  and  that  the  heat 
has  now  caused  the  paint  to  fall  off." 

Montfort,  after  having  ascertained  the  fact,  replied  : 

"  However  this  may  be,  dismount,  Sir  Knight,  and  let 
us  fight  on  foot." 

"  As  you  will,  count."  They  dismounted,  and  con- 
tinued the  fight  more  fiercely  than  before. 

The  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  measuring  his  distance, 
fell  terribly  uponl'Etendard,  who,  assailed  so  of  a  sudden, 
tumbled  from  his  horse.  His  enemy,  believing  him 
faint,  dismounted,  and  rushed  upon  him  in  order  to 
end  the  battle;  but  1'Etendard,  springing  up,  drew  his 
sword  and  defended  himself  bravely  ;  his  blows  were  as 
powerful  as  those  of  his  antagonist,  but  had  not  so  good 
an  effect  on  account  of  the  weapons  ;  because  the  French 
used  quadrangular  swords,  sharp  only  in  the  point,  which 
were  more  properly  called  rapiers,  while  the  Italians 
used  them  sharp  on  both  edges  and  on  the  point,  and 
distinguished  them  by  the  name  of  swords.  Having 
exchanged  many  blows  that  deserve  no  description,  the 
knight  of  the  thunderbolt  with  the  point  of  his  sword 
stjuck  with  such  force  the  enemy's  shield,  that  it  pierced 
it  through. 

"  Sir  Knight,"  he  then  exclaimed,  "  I  know  not  whether 
your  shield  will  not  break  by  hammering,  but  it  is  perfor- 
ated by  thrusting." 

L'Etendard  replied  with  a  stoccado  which,  cutting  the 
links  of  the  enemy's  hauberk,  wounded  him  slightly  on 
the  side,  drawing  the  warm  blood. 

The  wounded  knight,  throwing  away  his  shield,  grasped 
his  sword  with  both    hands,  and  struck,  full    of  ire,   at 
the  head  of  1'Etendard.     The  latter,  who  was  well  on  his 
guard,  hastily  protected  his  head  with    the  shield  ;    the  • 
sword  fell,  cut  through  the  shield,  the  crest,  the  helmet, 


196         The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

and  would  probably  have  parted  his  head  in  two,  if  the 
iron  with  which  it  was  fixed  to  the  hilt  had  not  twisted  ; 
hence  its  force  was  stopped  by  the  steel  cap.  The  knight 
of  the  thunderbolt,  seeing  his  enemy  stunned,  rushed  upon 
him  without  loss  of  time,  seized  his  right  hand  with  his 
left,  and  twisted  it  so  strongly  that  the  bones  of  the  arm 
snapped  as  if  crushed.  L'Etendard  fainted  with  the  great 
pain,  and  let  his  rapier  drop  ;  the  other  stepped  right  over 
him.  and  with  his  right  hand  still  armed  with  the  hilt  of 
his  sword,  gave  him  such  a  heavy  blow  on  the  visor,  that 
he  felled  him  again  groaning  to  the  ground,  then,  follow- 
ing up  his  victory,  he  drew  his  poniard,  bent  over  him,  cut 
the  leather  strap  of  his  visor,  and  cried  to  him  to  surren- 
der. There  was  no  reply ;  PEtendard's  face  was  the  color 
of  death,  his  mouth  and  nostrils  filled  with  bloody  foam, 
a  black  rim  around  his  eyes.  Two  or  three  times  was 
the  knight  of  the  thunderbolt  tempted  to  thrust  the 
blade  of  his  poniard  into  his  throat,  and  raised  it  to 
do  so  ;  but  afterward,  disdaining  the  act,  although  the 
custom  of  the  times  did  not  consider  it  cowardly,  he  took 
away  his  antagonist's  sword,  and  left  him  senseless  on 
the  field.  . 

"How  much  better  would  it  have  been  for  you  if 
Godfrey  de  Presilles  had  not  invented  the  tournament !  " 
cried  Montfort,  hitting  fiercely  the  knight  of  Italia. 
"  Resolve  better  ;  do  not  give  so  much  grief  to  your  lady 
love,  and  do  not  make  your  mother  weep." 

"  Do  you  need  any  assistance  ?  "  said  the  knight  of  the 
thunderbolt  to  *his  companion,  approaching  him,  and 
seeing  him  wounded  in  two  or  three  places. 

The  latter  did  not  reply,  and,  as  if  he  was  just  fresh 
for  the  contest,  redoubling  his  efforts,  assails  Montfort 
so  furiously,  that  the  latter,  with  all  his  art,  is  hardly  able 
to  parry  two  blows  out  of  three  ;  aiming  terrible  sword- 
thrusts  from  above,  from  below,  breaks  his  shield  m 
pieces,  knocks  in  splinters  his  steel  shoulder  piece,  and 
wounds  him  so  fearfully  on  the  collar  bone,  that  his  arm 
falls  powerless  at  his  side. 

"  Mark,  Montfort,  how  much  better  it  would  have  been 
for  you  to  have  Italy  without  striking  a  blow  !  And  woe 


The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt.  197 

to  you,  if  all  her  warriors  would  fight  !  "  exclaims  the 
assailant,  and  presses  on  him. 

Montfort,  oppressed  by  pain,  begins  to  lose  ground  ;  at 
every  blow  he  yields  a  step  ;  his  adversary  advancing, 
steps  on  the  very  footprints  that  he  leaves  in  retreating ; 
the  sword  of  the  knight  of  Italia,  swift  as  the  tongue  of 
a  serpent,  now  wounds  him  on  the  side,  now  penetrates 
his  visor  ;  he  is  assailed  all  over  his  body  with  more 
than  human  impetus ;  the  thought  that  his  adversary 
might  be  charmed  returns  more  dreadful  than  ever  to  his 
mind,  and  has  no  small  share  in  disheartening  him. 

"  Surrender,  or  you  are  dead  ! "  cries  the  assailant,  per- 
ceiving Montfort  on  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  so  that  another 
step  would  plunge  him  into  it. 

"  My  ancestors  never  surrendered  !  " 

"  That  means  that  they  were  more  valorous  than  you, 
not  that  you  should  not  yield  to  the  strongest :  acknowl- 
edge yourself  defeated." 

"Kill  me  if  you  have  defeated  me,  but  hope  not  that 
I  will  ever  say  so." 

Then  the  victorious  knight,  turning  his  back,  retires 
from  the  place.  Montfort,  surprised,  looks  around  and 
finds  himself  upon  the  edge  of  the  ditch.  You  would  not 
have  done  this — the  voice  of  his  conscience  reproached 
him.  Despairing  of  conquering  his  adversary,  he  returns 
to  the  contest,  in  order  to  die  honorably. 

The  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  with  his  hands  upon  the 
pommel  of  his  sword  fixed  upon  the  ground,  stood  mo- 
tionless, watching  the  mortal  duel.  He  might  have 
finished  it  if  he  had  willed  it,  with  only  a  blow  of  his 
sword,  but,  rejoicing  in  his  companion's  valor,  he  left  him 
all  the  glory  of  the  victory. 

Montfort  fell  finally  prostrated  ;  his  adversary  pressed 
him  with  a  foot  on  his  breast,  and  raising  his  sword  with 
both  hands,  rested  the  point  upon  the  unfastened  visor, 
saying,  "  Sir  Knight,  much  would  it  pain  me  to  kill  you, 
for,  although  proud  as  Lucifer,  I  have  proved  you  valiant 
in  arms,  and  you  have  done  all  you  could  to  defend  your- 
self against  me.  Call  yourself  defeated,  and  remember 
that  if  Italy  does  sleep  she  does  not  deserve  to  be 


198          The  Knight  of  the  Thunderbolt. 

blazoned  reversed  upon  your  shield.     She  sleeps,  but  if 
she  should  awake,  what  human  race  can  conquer  her?" 

"  Victory  has  given  you  the  right  of  killing  me,  but 
spare,  in  God's  name,  your  bitter  reproaches ;  1  would 
have  already  killed  you  !  "  replied  Montfort,  hardly  able 
to  breathe  on  account  of  both  his  physical  and  moral 
pains. 

"  Surrender,  and  have  your  life  saved." 

"  No." 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  this  obstinate  man?"  asked 
the  victor  of  the  knight  "of  the  thunderbolt,  who  calmly 
replied,  "  Give  him  the  coup  de  grace" 

And  he  would  have  done  so,  had  not  at  once  a  cry  risen 
from  every  side,  saying,  "Stop!  stop!"  and  a  noise  was 
heard  of  the  crowd  rushing  towards  them.  He  lifted  his 
head,  and  saw  that  the  lists  had  been  stepped  over,  the 
ditches  crossed,  and  a  number  of  people  were  crowding 
around  him. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  asked  of  his  companion. 

"  The  Count  of  Provence,"  replied  he,  "has  declared 
him  conquered,  having  ordered  Constable  Lebrun  to 
raise  his  lance.  Our  part  is  ended  ;  let  us  go." 

"  Is  it  well  that  we  should  go  off  like  runaways?" 

"  I  think  it  is  better ;  these  people  who  surround  us 
love  Montfort,  and  it  is  not  the  first  time  that  the  reward 
of  the  knight  conqueror  of  the  tournament  has  been  death 
by  treachery ;  if  you  wish  to  escape,  mount  your  horse 
and  follow  me." 

The  knight,  leaving  Montfort,  who  had  fainted  after 
pronouncing  his  last  words,  mounted  his  horse,  and  fol- 
lowed his  unknown  companion.  The  latter  rode  to  the 
place  where  stood  the  prizes  of  the  tournament,  took  up 
the  spear  with  the  armor,  and  handed  it  to  his  com- 
panion ;  then  took  one  of  the  cups  full  of  gold  besants, 
and  threw  them  to  the  crowd,  that  scattered  immediately 
to  pick  up  the  coins ;  this  he  repeated  with  the  second, 
the  third  and  the  fourth  cups,  and  thus  getting  rid  of  them, 
he  rode  safely  out  of  that  rabble. 

It  was  the  honorable  Lebrun  who,  although  insulted 
the  day  before  by  Montfort,  abhorring  an  ungenerous 


Remorse.  199 

revenge,  had  saved  his  life.  Charles,  at  his  repeated 
entreaties,  had  finally  ordered  him  to  raise  the  spear,  which 
the  constable  did  very  willingly,  and  then  anxiously 
advanced  with  the  sergeant-at-arms  to  relieve  Montfort, 
whom  they  found  senseless  on  the  ground,  and  carefully 
conveyed  to  his  lodgings. 

The  knights  of  Italia  and  of  the  thunderbolt,  although 
riding  very  fast,  were  soon  overtaken  by  their  other  six 
companions,  whom,  having  remained  prisoners  at  first, 
the  success  of  the  tournament  had  set  free.  Thus,  all 
joined  together,  they  rode  into  the  deepest  recesses  of  a 
neighboring  forest.  They  had  hardly  proceeded  a  thou- 
sand steps,  when  they  met  about  two  hundred  men-at-arms, 
who  from  afar  saluted  them  with  their  swords  and  parti- 
sans. The  knight  of  the  thunderbolt,  approaching  near, 
lowered  his  visor,  and  said,  "  Companions,  we  have 
conquered." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

REMORSE. 

For  no  night  has  followed  day,  nor  day  the  night,  that,  mingled  with 
the  cry  of  the  new-born  has  not  been  heard  the  weeping  of  death 
and  funerals. — LUCRETIUS,  II. 

|S  it  you,  Sir  Ghino?  My  heart  had  already  re- 
vealed it  to  me,"  exclaimed  the  knight  of  Italia, 
lowering  his  visor  in  his  turn,  at  which  Ghino 
with  open  arms  ran  towards  him,  crying,  "You 
here,  Prince  Rogiero  ? "  and  they  embraced  and  kissed 
each  other  with  much  affection. 

"  But  how,  Sir  Knight,"  resumed  G'hino,  "  from  being 
so  friendly  with  France,  have  you  so  quickly  become  an 
enemy  ?  " 

"  You  must  know,  Sir  Ghino,  that  when  I  took  the 
letters  from  Naples  to  the  Countess  Beatrice  on  the 


2OO  Remorse. 

banks  of  the  Oglio,  Montfort,  in  a  passion,  cried  out : 
'Good  heavens!  we  shall  have  Italy  without  striking  a 
blow  /'  Now  I  hope  he  has  learned  that  woe  to  him  if 
the  Italians  did  strike  !  "  .  .  . 

"  What  presumption !  and  he  has  not  yet  conquered. 
Think  how  proud  they  will  be  when  they  are  actual  mas- 
ters of  Naples !  .  .  .  Oh,  if  our  own  patriots  !  .  .  .  But 
come  now,  Sir  Knight,  for  you  must  be  tired  and  wounded, 
and  I  myself  never  came  so  near  sinking  under  my  armor 
as  to-day.  By  the  help  of  God  we  have  performed  ex- 
ploits enough  for  one  day." 

Thus  they  walked  on  towards  a  little  house  situated 
very  deep  in  the  forest,  where  Ghino  for  the  second  time 
received  Rogiero  as  a  guest. 

When  Rogiero,  by  a  few  days'  rest  and  care,  had  nearly 
recovered  from  the  wounds  which  he  had  received,  it 
happened  that  one  day,  Ghino  being  absent  on  business 
connected  with  his  troop,  he  went  out  alone  into  the  for- 
est. His  arms  were  crossed,  his  head  bent;  he  walked 
sometimes  quickly,  sometimes  slowly,  lost  in  thought. 
The  remembrance  'of  past  events  assailed  his  mind,  at 
first  with  a  feeling  of  sadness,  then  with  a  painful  irrita- 
tion, finally  with  an  excess  of  rage ;  then  he  rushed  for- 
ward, thrusting  his  hands  in  his  hair,  wretched  in  appear- 
ance, his  eyes  glaring,  shouting  and  cursing  like  a  crea- 
ture afflicted  by  a  demon.  Bathed  in  perspiration,  he 
leaned  against  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  panting  from 
fatigue  and  grief,  cried  aloud,  "  Who  denies  that  there 
is  a  destiny  ?  Let  him  who  denies  it  come  and  behold  • 
the  fearful  sentence  that  condemns  me  to  infamy  ;  and  if 
he  has  the  heart  let  him  say  that  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  destiny.  See,  to  whichever -side  I  turn,  there  is  only 
crime, — crime  if  I  remain  inactive,  crime  if  I  act.  My 
father's  blood  cries  from  the  tomb,  .  .  .  should  I  shut  my 
heart  and  ears  ...  it  will  remain  in  accusation  against  me 
before  the  throne  of  God,  as  a  disgrace  in  the  sight  of 
men.  .  .  .  Let  me  avenge  it !  How  ?  Challenge  King 
Manfred  to  single  combat  ?  .  .  .  Fool ! — those  even  \vho 
feel  most  deeply  the  justice  of  my  cause,  would  cast 
upon  me  the  imputation  of  madness  ;  I  should  have  sacri- 


Remorse.  201 

ficed  myself  uselessly.  I  should  leave  to  my  descendants 
only  a  new  crime  to  retaliate.  Call  in  the  stranger  against 
him?  .  .  .  My  father's  death  will  be  avenged,  but  my 
country  oppressed  I — Strike  him  in  secret  ?  That  would  be 
the  best.  ...  But  then  men,  no  one  knows  why,  call  that 
treachery.  Alas  !  I  see  the  scorn  of  the  nation,  like 
some  hideous  monster,  preparing  to  destroy  my  reputa-< 
tion.  I  see  crowding  before *ny  mind  present  and  future 
sins ;  but  mine  stands  out  from  the  multitude  in  glaring 
colors.  I  see  my  name  as  a  metal  plate  riveted  in  the 
memory  of  posterity,  made  more  conspicuous  by-my  efforts 
to  destroy  it,  and  attracting  the  attention  of  ages.  This 
is  the  greatest  torment ;  but  the  end  of  torment,  death. 
If  life  is  a  gift,  I  renounce  it ;  I  would  have  renounced 
it,  had  my  reason  foreknown  what  life  is,  and  had  the 
choice  of  existence  been  presented  to  me.  If  it  be  a  pun- 
ishment, how  have  I  deserved  it?  Why  should  I  be 
doubly  afflicted  for  not  bearing  the  punishment  ?  That 
is  not  justice-!  Justice  !  dared  I  utter  such  a  word  in  the 
presence  of  the  powerful  one  ?  If  Heaven  had  endowed 
him  with  a  compassionate  heart,  he  would  send  for  a 
physician  to  see  if  my  mind  were  sound.  I  have  protected 
my  life  from  hunger,  thirst,  cold,  from  '  all  the  ills  that 
flesh  is  heir  to  ; '  but  from  infamy  I  have  not  been  able 
to  protect  it.  If  it  was  sin  to  destroy  it,  it  was  dishonor 
to  keep  it.  Between  dishonor  and  sin  I  have  chosen  the 
latter  :  if  I  ought  to  have  chosen  the  former,  why  was  it 
not  pointed  out  to  me  ?  Why  was  such  horror  of  dishonor 
given  me?  Why  was  there  imparted  to  my  fellow  beings 
a  fierce  will  to  persecute  the  fallen  ?  Why  should  it  be 
a  sin  ?  If  a  body  be  square  or  round,  does  it  serve  less 
the  purpose  for  which  it  was  intended  ?  Nothing  of  hu- 
manity is  lost ;  matter  returns  to  matter.  The  spirit  ?  Is 
it  not  trial  enough  to  conquer  the  desire  for  life  instilled 
into  our  blood ;  not  pain  enough,  the  unspeakable  an- 
guish of  disturbing  the  order  of  our  actual  existence?  If 
it  is  permitted  to  kill  another  who  wishes  to  do  me  harm, 
why  should  I  not  kill  myself  to  escape  it  ?  What  is  this 
life  that  it  is  worth  preserving  ?  The  world  offers  but 
two  paths  to  the  living — criminal  or  victim.  For  the  first, 
0* 


2O2  Remorse. 

my  soul  is  too  little  to  despise  fame,  and  him  who  confers 
it ;  for  the  second/^tifo  '^reaf^to  bear  it  like  a  coward. 
Hitherto,  every  moment  has  been  pain,  every  day  a  grief; 
now,  every  year  is  about  to  be  a  crime." 

And  thus  he  would  certainly,  in  his  excited  mood, 
have  repeated  all  the  opinions  advanced  by  the  Abbot  of 
San  Cirano,  Robeck,  Rousseau,  Goethe,  Ugo  Foscolo, 
and  innumerable  others,  in  Favor  of  suicide,  and  perhaps 
would  have  ended  by  committing  it, — an  argument  which 
does  not  admit  of  reasoning  on  the  other  side, — if  a 
sonorous  voice  had  not  sounded  in  his  ears,  crying, 
'•'•Remember  your  father"  Rogiero  sprang  up,  looked 
around  in  alarm,  and  searched  in  all  directions.  Not  a 
trace,  not  a  vestige  of  a  human  being.  Now  indeed  he 
is  nearly  distracted,  and  if  the  sentences  that  had  just 
fallen  from  him  were  in  part  fragments  of  wisdom,  in  part 
wicked,  as  his  fierce  passion  suggested,  think  what  they 
would  be  after  this  event. 

"  Who  denies  that  there  is  a  destiny  ?  Here  am  I, 
overwhelmed  by  the  delirium  of  desperate  love,  sur- 
rounded by  the  meshes  of  crime,  from  which  I  cannot 
escape.  I  groan  under  the  weight  of  chains,  which  I  have 
not  power  to  break.  My  pulses  drop  blood,  and  it  is  vain 
to  struggle  :  let  me  be  quiet,  let  me  await  the  fulfilment 
of  my  destiny,  and  suffer  in  silence.  Behold  the  abyss 
of  tears,  of  remorse,  of  anger :  I  would  walk  on  sharp 
iron  to  avoid  it,  but  an  irresistible  power  drags  me  into 
it.-  Whence  comes  this  cursed  power?  From  hell  or 
heaven  ?  I  know  not ;  I  do  not  wish  to  know.  The 
power  lives  and  rules,  and  I  am  condemned  to  fall  head- 
long. Oh  !  if  it  were  granted  to' me  to  demand  the  rea- 
son !  If  the  power  were  mine  to  rush  with  the  ele- 
ments ! " 

And  here  Rogiero  became  perfectly  frantic.  Trans- 
ported by  fury,  he  sped  through  the  forest  like  one  at- 
tacked by  that  frightful  disease  called  Lycanthropy,*  and 

*  Lycanthropy,  from  the  Greek.  A  kind  of  madness,  in  which 
the  sufferer  runs  through  the  country  by  night,  howling  like  a  wolf; 
and  sometimes  bites  and  gnashes  his  teeth  like  a  dog :  whence  it  has 
also  been  called  Cynanthropy. 


Remorse.  203 

from  time  to  time  gnashed  his  teeth,  crying,  "  Tyrant ! 
tormentor  of  souls  !  may  all  nature  perish  ! "  and  many 
other  such  things.  Pursuing  his  headlong  course,  blind 
both  in  mind  and  body,  he  suddenly  heard  some  one  cry 
out  in  advance  of  him,  "  Stop,  man  !  if  you  do  not  wish 
to  eftter  the  grave  before  your  time." 

Rogiero,  recalled  to  his  senses,  saw  himself  upon  the 
brink  of  an  open  grave.  In  a  line  with  it  were  many 
others,  dug  in  the  same  field,  also  open,  as  if  to  be  more 
ready  to  engulf  the  race  destined  to  die.  The  words 
had  been  uttered  by  an  old  friar,  who  looked  as  if  he 
had  not  opened  his  lips,  so  absorbed  was  he  in  digging 
his  own  last  resting-place.  I  am  well  aware  that  the 
science  of  Lavater,  of  discovering  the  hidden  thoughts 
of  the  mind  from  the  external  forms  of  the  countenance, 
is  very  uncertain  ;  nevertheless  we  are  so  made,  that  we 
stop  to  look  at  the  glass  before  we  drink  its  contents. 
Let  us,  however,  study  human  countenances  as  much  as 
possible  ;  not  that  they  can  teach  us  wisdom,  but  because 
they  teach  us  to  doubt,  and  doubt  is  all  that  is  granted  to 
mortals.  The  friar  seemed  more  than  ninety  years  old  : 
his  figure  appeared  to  have  been  formerly  as  majestic  and 
upright  as  the  pines  that  surrounded  his  holy  abbey  ;.but 
now  age  had  bent  him  towards  the  earth  which  he  was 
then  opening  with  his  own  hand  to  receive  him,  on  the 
not  far  distant  day  of  his  death.  Courteous  were  the  mo- 
tions of  his  lip,  his  smile,  his  gestures  :  his  voice  was  deep 
and  solemn  :  his  eyes  flashed  a  fire  which  seemed  eternal, 
for  neither  years,  nor  watchings,  nor  tears,  had  been  able 
to  dim,  far  less  extinguish  it.  Michael  Angelo,.  if  he  had 
wished  to  paint  the  Eternal  Father,  would  have  copied 
his  awfulness  ;  Raphael,  to  portray  the  Redeemer,  would 
have  taken  his  gentleness  for  a  model.  Rogiero,  feeling 
a  little  comforted  by  the  beauty  of  his  aspect,  although 
somewhat  ashamed,  said  to  him :  "  Holy  Father,  if  the 
question  is  not  impertinent,  why  are  your  hands  employed 
in  so  humble  a  labor  ?  The  falling  of  the  snow,  and  the 
crumbling  of  the  earth,  will  constantly  fill  this  grave, 
which,  on  the  day  of  your  death,  might  be  finished  in  a 


2O4  Remorse. 

few  hours  by  any  one.  It  seems  to  me  that  your  time 
might  be  better  employed." 

"  My  son,"  replied  the  friar,  planting  his  spade  in  the 
ground,  and  resting  his  chin  on  his  hands,  upon  the  han- 
dle of  it,  in  a  grave  manner,  "  you  would  have  spoken 
wisely,  if  so  trifling  were  the  object  of  my  labors.  *But 
know  that  the  intention  of  our  glorious  founder  was  far 
different  when  he  ordered  this  daily  task.  It  is  true  that 
the  custom  has  nearly  died  out  among  the  monks  of  this 
monastery,  and  I  am  now  almost  the  only  one  "who  con- 
stantly follows  it.  Let  man  consider  that  his  body  must 
become  two  or  three  clods  of  earth  and  a  myriad  of  insects, 
and  if  his  implacable  passion*  do  not  become  perfectly 
still,  they  will  at  least  become  calmer.  By  our  confor- 
mation, we  are  such  that,  requiring  pleasure,  we  fly  in  alarm 
not  only  from  grief,  but  from  toil.  Now  consider  whether 
our  thoughts  would  willingly  turn  to  the  contemplation  of 
death,  which  is  the  greatest  of  griefs  :  we  must  compel 
them  to  it  with  constant  effort.  Truly  time  would  be 
better  employed  in  some  great  work,  but  opportunities  for 
great  works  occur  but  seldom,  and  it  is  well  that  it  is  so  ; 
and  while  awaiting  them,  what  study  is  more  advantage- 
ous than  that  which  teaches  us  the  weakness  of  our  nature, 
and  warns  us  that  all  conditions  are  equal  in  the  scale  of 
death,  and  that  perhaps  a  better  earth  is  formed  from  the 
limbs  of  a  man,  strengthened  by  constant  toil,  and  pre- 
served by  temperate  food,  than  from  the  weakened  body 
of  him  who  has  lived  in  luxury  ?  Oh,  my  son  !  it  is 
no  vain  labor  to  turn  the  earth  in  which  we  are  to  be 
buried." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  repeating  the  labor  every 
day  would  have  long  since  habituated  man  to  it,  and  his 
dread  would  remain  as  it  was  before  he  commenced. 
But,  my  father,  what  is  life,  that  so  much  preparation  is 
required  to  finish  it  ?  If  a  man,  for  weariness,  or  for  grief, 
or  for  any  other  reason,  wishes  for  death,  without  think- 
ing, he  plunges  his  sword  into  his  breast,  then,  in  the 
moment  between  the  wound  and  death,  his  spirit  will  look 
upon  it  as  an  act  of  its  own  will,  and  will  enjoy  the  flatter- 
ing idea  that  it  has  the  power  to  destroy  its  body  :  but, 


Remorse.  205 

thinking  upon  it,  we  learn  that  it  is  necessary,  inevitable, 
that  the  effort  of  our  fortitude  merely  hastens  it  by  a  few 
moments ;  everything  is  reduced  to  meanness,  misery, 
cowardice.  For  Heaven's  sake,  let  us  not  think  of  death, 
for  it  afflicts  us  with  too  great  sorrow  :  let  us  take  it,  if 
necessary,  without  thinking  of  it." 

"  Ah  ! "  cried  the  friar,  striking  his  hand  upon  his 
forehead,  "you  disclose  to  me  a  terrible  secret.  Per- 
haps this  labor,  which  hitherto  I  have  looked  upon  as  the 
offspring  of  my  own  courage,  is  a  tribute  that  age,  shak- 
ing the  vigor  of  my  spirit,  confpelsme  to  pay  to  weakness. 
In  former  times  I  learned  that  man  shows  himself  weak 
in  everything ;  but  the  evil  one  has  taken  me  by  surprise, 
and  pride  has  deluded  me  with  the  flattery  that  my  work 
was  a  magnanimous  one.  Still,  I  do  not  fear  death." 

"  Nor  do  I  fear  it :  I  even  seek  it  as  a  hidden  treasure, 
but  cannot  rind  it :  I  long  for  it  as  a  compensation  for  life, 
and  it  is  not  granted  to  me.  Why  is  there  not,  in  the  midst 
of  a  life  of  trials,  a  spot  where  we  may  rest  ?  Why,  amidst 
so  much  grief,  is  there  no  asylum  of  peace?" 

The  friar  was  silent.  Rogiero  remained  for  some 
time  absorbed  in  thought.  Looking  around  he  perceived 
a  solemn  solitude,  a  blessed  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
rustling  of  the  distant  leaves  or  by  the  voice  of  the  wan- 
dering larks,  which,  with  swift  curve,  flew  over  the  grave- 
yard. His  blood,  cooled,  flowed  more  calmly  in  his  veins, 
his  pulses  beat  more  gently,  his  breath  came  more  freely. 

"  Oh,  here  indeed  reigns  peace  ! "  he  exclaimed  with  a 
sigh. 

The  friar  was  silent. 

"If,"  continued  Rogiero,  "if  the  cry  of  vengeance 
would  not  reach  the  altar  of  the  Lord  ;  if  the  praises  of 
God  would  banish  that  voice  from  my  ears  ;  if  the  shade 
of  the  dead  could  not  enter  the  sanctuary  .  .  ." 

"  Certainly  it  will  not,  unless  you  yourself  carry  it 
there." 

"  I  ?  When  I  would  hide  myself  under  the  earth  to 
escape  it !" 

"  Have  you  committed  a  crime  ?  " 

"  No." 


206  Remorse. 

"  Are  you  about  to  commit  one  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  what  do  you  wish  of  the  Lord  ?  " 

"  That  He  would  save  me  from  a  power  that  urges  me 
to  sin." 

"  What  power  ?     Man,  say, — I  will — and  you  can." 

"  Oh,  friar,  friar,  you  are  incredulous ;  but  by  night 
and  day  I  am  condemned  to  hear  the  voice  of  my  betrayed 
father." 

"  What  does  he  require  ?  " 

"  A  crime." 

"  Beyond  this,"  replied  the  friar,  pointing  to  the  grave, 
"  there  is  only  pardon  ;  all  that  you  relate  is  an  illusion  of 
your  own  spirit,  disposed  to  do  evil." 

"If  it  were  so,  could  the  House  of  God  cure  me?" 

"  It  could." 

"  Father,  I  will  become  a  friar." 

"  Because  there  is  silence  there,"  replied  the  old  man, 
indicating  the  abbey  with  his  glance,  "do  you  think  that 
all  is  peace  within  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  despair  is 
silent  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  tears  are  consumed,  but 
not  the  anguish  that  causes  them  to  be  shed  ?  The 
threshold  of  the  convent  is  not  a  wall,  that  can  protect 
you  from  the  passions  of  the  world.  If  you  bring  them 
there,  there  you  will  find  them  ;  if  you  bear  crime  there, 
you  will  find  remorse ;  if  wishes,  longing.  Some  have 
lived,  who,  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  this  retirement, 
or  rather  trusting  too  much  to  it,  cast  down  by  some 
misfortune,  angry  but  not  satiated  with  the  world,  have 
donned  the  dress  of  our  order,  but  have  not  assumed  its 
spirit ;  then  gradually,  their  desires  awaking  in  them  with 
greater  force  than  ever,  irritated  at  the  difficulties  of  suc- 
cess, either  from  weak  they  become  wicked,  or  wear  out 
their  lives  in  passion  ;  and  none  of  these  have  saved  their 
souls.  In  the  silence  of  these  walls,  deeds  of  sin  are 
buried.  It  is  sufficient,  if  you  wish  to  be  happy,  to  lay 
aside  every  desire  of  glory,  every  hatred,  every  love  ; 
you  will  be  as  one  dead,  as  one  never  born  ;  your  virtues 
will  pass  away  unknown,  the  applause  of  men,  the  crown 
of  wisdom  or  of  power,  will  appear  to  your  fancy  as  vanity  ; 


*  Remorse.  207 

the  only  reality  the  earth  that  will  cover  you  ;  and  you 
will  go  down  to  death,  unknown,  un cared  for,  like  a  drop 
of  rain  falling  into  the  ocean." 

"  Father,  do  not  repulse  me  from  the  sanctuary  of 
God." 

"  I  repulse  you  ?  Oh,  if  my  head  could  be  a  stepping- 
stone  for  you  to  reach  celestial  joys,  I  would  lay  it  thou- 
sands and  thousands  of  times  in  the  dust,  thanking  Eter- 
nal Wisdom  for  having  allotted  it  such  a  lofty  destiny. 
But  I  am  a  sinner  ;  it  cannot  be  granted  me  to  raise  a  soul 
from  the  path  of  perdition  and  to  obtain  its  salvation.  No, 
it  cannot  be  granted.  Who  knows  but  what,  by  inviting 
you  to  taste  the  comforts  of  religion,  I  should  be  instru- 
mental in  your  ruin  ;  some  may  be  lost  as  friars  who  as 
knights  would  have  been  saved  :  at  all  events,  it  is  neces- 
sary to  think  well  of  the  end." 

While  he  was  speaking,  a  bell  of  the  abbey  began  to 
toll  :  the  friar  raised  his  eyes  to  Heaven,  and  prayed  fer- 
vently, "  May  it  please  Thee,  O  Lord,  to  pardon  the 
soul  of  the  poor  brother  Egidio."  Then  turning  to  Ro- 
giero  :  "  Hear,  my  son,  this  bell  warns  us  that  a  soul  is 
passing.  Poor  brother  Egidio !  .  It  is  not  yet  eight 
months  since  he  first  assumed  the  cowl,  and  he  has  so 
weakened  himself  with  fasts  and  discipline,  that  his  body 
could  not  bear  up  under  them.  Assuredly  he  was  a  great 
sinner,  but  the  mercy  of  the  Eternal  is  greater  than  the 
sin,  and  he  will  certainly  be  saved.  I  found  him,  like 
you,  on  the  way,  and  led  him  in,  but  his  face  appeared 
very  different  from  yours  ;  his  voice,  his  words,  different ; 
now  he  is  dying.  Who  is  brother  Egidio  ?  No  one 
knows;  no  one  weeps  for  him.  From  your  flashing  looks 
I  see  that  you  could  not  endure  such  oblivion;  your  eyes 
show  a  passion  that  must  break  foith ;  there  is  no  power 
that  can  restrain  it ;  if  stopped,  it  will  return  to  break 
your  heart.  I  do  not  know  whither  it  will  lead  you,  but 
I  am  certain  that  if  you  became  a  friar  it  would  be  to 
cast  yourself  into  eternal  flames  before  the  time.  The 
peace  of  God  be  with  you." 

"Cruel  man!"  cried  Rogiero,  "you  wish  me  peace, 
and  will  not  hold  out  your  hand  to  help  me  ;  you  drive 


2O8  Remorse. 

me  from  the  place  where  I  would  seek  safety,  telling  me 
that  that  is  not  the  way;  but  you  do  not  point  out  any 
other.  But  look  down  once  upon  thy  creature,  Almighty 
God  !  I  will  go  and  prostrate  myself  before  His  altar  ; 
I  \vrll  implore  Him,  beseech  Him.  All  that  man  can  do, 
will  I  do,  that  He  may  listen  to  me,  and  answer." 

Thus  saying,  he  slowly  followed  the  friar,  and,  reach- 
ing a  little  door,  pushed  it  open,  passed  through  a  corri- 
dor, and  found  himself  in  a  room  on  the  ground  floor. 
Ascending  a 'staircase  at  the  end  of  the  room,  he  arrived 
•at 'the  first  floor,  and  after  spending  some  time  in^yainly 
Searching  for  a  frian  to  direct  him  to  the  chapel,  he  found 
himself  beside  a  door,  through  which  he  heard  the 
subdued  voice  of  some  one  reciting  the  prayers  for  the 
dying.  He  opened  the  door  and  stopped  on  the  threshold. 
— The  setting  sun,  hidden  behind  a  thick  mist,  tinged  with 
a  blood-red  glow  an  overhanging  cloud,  which  reflected 
in  a  fearful  manner  its  lurid  hue  upon  the  objects  beneath  : 
it  penetrated  through  the  small  window,  and  illuminated 
the  face  and  breast  of  a  dying  man.  Disabled  by  his  ill- 
ness, or* by  some  other  cause,  from  lying  down,  he  was 
seated,  propped  up  by  a  folded  mattress ;  his  right  hand 
lay  uncovered  upon  the  bed,  motionless.  The  tips  of  the 
fingers  were  purple,  but  the  rest  of  the  hand  was  white,  as 
if  already  dead  ;  the  left  hand  was  concealed  by  the  sheet. 
At  his  left,  upon  the  mattress,  was  placed  a  crucifix,  but 
the  dying  man  kept  his  head  averted,  as  if  to  avoid  the 
sight  of  it.  From  time  to  time  he  opened  his  eyes,  now 
dim  and  of  a  leaden  hue,  now  bright  as  glass ;  but 
wandering,  not  fixed  on  anything,  evidently  seeing  noth- 
ing, like  those  of  one  blind  with  gutta  serena  ;  his  hair, 
pushed  back  from  his  face,  showed  the  stamp  of  death  im- 
pressed upon  his  forehead  ;  from  his  compressed  lips 
oozed  a  black  foam,  which  dropped  down  upon  his  beard  : 
he  gasped  painfully  for  breath.  The  rest  of  the  scene — 
the  clothing  that  covered  his  feet,  the  friar,  who,  kneel- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  recited  the  holy  prayers — was 
lost  in  obscurity. 

Rogiero  entered  noiselessly.  Why  does  he  grow  pale  ? 
Why  does  his  heart  almost  cease  to  beat?  He  ap- 


Remorse.  209 

preaches  ;  he  bends  down  towards  the  dying  man.     Great 
Heavens  !  Roberto  ! " 

The  dulled  senses  of  the  expiring  one  answer  as  if  un-| 
willingly  to  the  call.  He  raises  his  eyes  and  looks  at  the 
knight.  Suddenly  his  blood  flowed  quickly  through  his 
veins  ;  his  hair  rises  on  end  ;  his  trembling  shakes  the  bed  ; 
with  a  frightful  cry  he  exclaims  i  "  The  betrayed  !  The 
betrayed  !  Father,  you  have  deceived  me  :  why  did  you 
tell  me  that  God  had  forgiven  my  sins?  Do  you  not  see 
that  He  rends  the  stones  of  the  tomb  and  sends  the  dead 
to  bid  me  despair  in  my  last  moments." 

"They  are  illusions  of  the  evil  one,  my  brother  ;  fix 
your  mind  upon  the  image  of  the  Redeemer." 

Roberto,  seeing  the  friar  near  him,  clung  to  him  in 
terror,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  bosom,  uttering  brokenly  : 
"Behold  him  !  there, .  .  .  there, ...  on  the  other  side  of 
the  bed.  .  .  .  For  Jesus'  sake,  sprinkle  some  holy  water 
upon  him,  .  .  .  drive  him  away ;  .  .  .  my  thoughts  cannot 
dwell  upon  Paradise  unless  he  is  away  ?  " 

The  friar,  who,  absorbed  in  the  holy  duties  of  his  office, 
had  not  observed  Rogiero's  entrance,  looked  keenly  into 
the  darkness  and  perceived  a  knight.  A  shudder,  though 
slight-,  passed  over  his  frame  ;  but,  reassured  by  his  trust 
in  divine  aid,  he 'began  : 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  I  conjure  thee." 

"  Father,  I  am  no  ghost  that  you  should  conjure  me." 

"  Do  not  heed  him,  father,  do  not  heed  him ;  con- 
tinue to  exorcise  him  ;  do  you  not  see  that  he  is  trying 
to  deceive  you,  that  he  may  remain  ?  " 

"  Unhappy  one !  Roberto,  do  you  not  know  my 
voice  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  that  I  had  never  heard  it ! " 

"The  last  time  that  I  parted  from  you,  I  pressed  your 
hand,  and  we  promised  each  other  that  if  we  ever  met 
again  in  this  world,  we  would  look  upon  each  other  as 
friends  ;  do  you  now  receive  me  thus  ?  Banish  all  fear  ; 
feel,  I  am  alive."  And  so  saying,  he-laid  his  hand  affec- 
tionately upon  Roberto's  arm. 

"  It   burns  me,  .  .  .  Father,  it   burns  me.  .  .  .  Throw 


2io  Remorse. 

some  holy  water  upon  him,  . .  .  holy  water.  ...  I  can  bear 
no  more.  .  .  .  Drive  him  away,  or  I  shall  die  cursing." 

"  Son,  do  not  utter  such  words ;  thank  God,  the 
knight  before  you  is  living." 

"  Living  ?  " 

"  Yes,  living.  Adore  the  eternal  decrees ;  perhaps  he 
was  sent  to  gladden  your  dying  moments  by  his  forgive- 
ness." 

"  He  is  living ! "  cried  the  expiring  man,  and  loosing 
his  clasp  upon  the  friar's  neck,  he  took  Rogiero's  hand, 
and  with  the  deepest  anxiety  touched  it  many  times,  as 
if  to  assure  himself  that  he  was  not  deceived.  "  He  is 
living  !  "  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips,  and  burst  into  a  flood 
of  tears. 

"  But  cheer  up,  Roberto  !  take  courage,  do  not  weep 
so  ;  many  greater  sinners  than  you  have  obtained  forgive- 
ness, and  with  less  bitter  repentance." 

Roberto,  still  holding  Rogiero's  hand,  looks  into  his 
face,  and  in  a  piteous  voice  entreats,  "  Forgiveness  ;  for- 
giveness !  " 

"  You  have  never  done  me  any  harm,  Roberto  ;  why 
should  I  forgive  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  crimes  are  infinite,  and  I  need  all  the  power 
of  hope  to  keep  me  from  despairing  of  forgiveness,  and 
all  the  mercy  of  God  to  forgive  them  ;  I  have  sinned 
against  the  innocent — against  you — for  I  have  betrayed 
you." 

"  Why  have  you  betrayed  me  ?  What  had  I  done  to 
you?"  asked  Rogiero,  in  a  voice  that  would  have 
softened  the  hardest  heart.  "  Then  injuring  no  one  is 
not  enough  to  make  one  safe  ?  " 

"  But — I  have  betrayed  you  !" 

"  Oh  !  courteous  knight,  if  your  spirit  is  as  gentle  as 
your  face,  you  will  not  permit  this  soul  to  depart,  un- 
comforted  by  your  forgiveness ;  he  has  injured  you,  but 
his  penitence  has  expiated  his  sin,  and  he  is  about  to  ap- 
pear before  the  judgment-seat  of  the  Almighty." 

"  Good  father,  I  do  not  remember  any  injury  that  this 
man  has  done  me  ;  but  since  he  says  that  he  has  be- 
trayed me,  I  forgive  him.  Injury,  as  you  know,  can  be 


Remorse.  211 

cancelled  only  in  two  ways  :  revenge  or  forgiveness. 
The  first  is  impossible,  the  second  alone  remains  to  me. 
I  forgive  him." 

"  Father,  you  heard  ;  he  forgives  me." 

"  Yes,  be  of  good  cheer ;  man  has  forgiven  you : 
think  if  God  will  not,  who  is  so  much  more  merciful  than 
man  ?  " 

"  Amen:1 

"  Roberto,  I  beseech  you,  tell  me  how  you  have  be- 
trayed me." 

"  Why  should  I  not  tell  you  ?  Oh  !  that  the  whole 
universe  were  here  to  listen  to  my  confession,  and  see 
how  great  a  sinner  I  have  been  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord. 
Thus  my  submission  might  induce  Him  to  look  upon  me 
with  mercy  in  this  most  bitter  hour  of  my  death,  and 
would  atone  for  my  sins : — but  no,  for  you  might  with- 
draw your  forgiveness  and  repent  of  having  given  it  to 
me,  and  curse  me  forever — no,  I  will  not  tell  you  how  I 
betrayed  you." 

"  Roberto,  I  am  more  accustomed  to  misfortune  than 
you  would  believe  ;  you  cannot  tell  me  anything  that  I 
have  not  imagined  or  felt ;  I  have  long  been  prepared 
for  any  event.  Speak  ;  I  promise  not  to  retract  my  for- 
giveness." 

"  You  swear  it?" 

"  I  swear  it." 

"  Father,  I  beseech  you,  receive  his  oath." 

Rogiero  placed  his  right  hand  upon  the  crucifix  and  re- 
peated what  the  father  chose  to  dictate. 

"  Then  you  cannot  now  break  your  promise,  Ro- 
giero ?  "  asked  Roberto,  and  Rogiero  replied  by  an  as- 
senting gesture.  "Then  come  here  and  sit  near  me  oh 
the  side  of  the  bed  ;  I  will  speak  low,  for  my  strength  is 
failing,  and  it  may  not  be  sufficient  to  end  my  confession. 
Rogiero,  you  will  hear  the  story  of  a  crime  which  is  too 
great  to  admit  of  either  tears  or  cries  ;  tears  would  freeze 
on  your  eyelids,  cries  would  stifle  in  your  throat.  Why 
do  you  grow  pale,  Rogiero  ?  Oh,  it  is  not  time  yet !  If 
you  are  not  brave  now,  I  swear  t6  you  that  you  will  die 
before  I  end." 


212  Extreme  Unction. 

Rogiero,  placing  his  hand  in  Roberto's  that  he  might 
feel  that  it  did  not  tremble,  said : 
"  Speak  on." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EXTREME   UNCTION. 

Posta  s'era  a  seder  sopra  il  suo  letto 

La  miserella  vinta  dal  dolore, 

Ed  avea  nelle  braccia 

II  figliuol  pur  mo'  nato  : 

Questo,  disse,  c  quel  latte 

Che  ti  puo  dare  il  petto 

Di  tua  madre  infelice,  e  trapassata 

Ogni  cosa  bruttando  col  suo  sangue 

Fini  la  vita. 

CANACE,  Tragedia  Antica. 

O'ercome  with  grief,  the  watched  one 
On  the  bedside  her  woes  sat  ruing, 

Within  her  arms  her  new-born  son. 
"In  vain  for  food  my  child  is  suing  ; " 
All  things  around  with  blood  imbruing, 

His  hapless  mother' s  life  is  done. 

M.  G.  M. 

IT  was  a  winter  night ;  gathered  arotvnd  the  hearth, 
we  listened  to  the  wild  tale  told  us  by  the  stew- 
ard. Often  affected  by  an  unusual  tremor,  I 
leaned  against  my  neighbor,  and  as  if  from  affec- 
tion, pressed  his  hand,  but  in  reality  because  I  was  afraid. 
Certainly  the  story  of  the  steward  was  frightful,  and  the 
fire  was  beginning  to  die  away,  and  the  shadows- to  grow 
heavier  ;  but  I  felt  within  me  a  disturbance  which  could 
not  have  been  caused  by  those  things.  I  have  since 
heard  derided  these  secret  intimations,  by  which  an  inter- 
nal power  seems  to  warn  us  of  some  impending  misfor- 
tune ;  but  I  have  never  suffered  any  affliction  which  my 


Extreme  Unction.  213 

heart  has  not  predicted.  That  evening  was  destined  for 
the  commencement  of  my  crimes. 

"  A  light  touch  on  my  shoulder  made  me  look  round. 
The  face  of  Count  Odrisio  di  Sanguine  had  always  been 
stern,  this  evening  it  was  terrible  ;  it  may  have  been  the 
effect  of  the  red  light  of  the  dying  embers,  which  reflected 
upon  his  wrinkled  features  that  strange  expression ; 
perhaps  it  came  from  the  thought  of  what  he  was  plotting 
in  his  mind.  At  the  sight  of  those  white  hairs  standing  on 
end  around  his  pale  face,  his  black  eyebrows  contracted 
painfully,  the  wan  and  faded  hue  of  his  usually  ruddy 
cheeks,  I  was  about  to  cry  out ;  but  he  opened  wide  his 
eyes,  before  half-closed,  and  by  their  angry  flash  and 
expression,  gave  me  to  understand  that  I  must  be  silent ; 
then  bending  over  the  back  of  the  seat,  he  whispered 
softly  in  my  ear  :  '  Follow  me,  but  let  no  one  perceive 
your  departure  ; '  and  went  away  as  he  came.  Eager  to 
obey  my  master,  I  drew  back  a  little  from  the  hearth  ;  the 
light  no  longer  shining  upon  me,  my  companions  took 
no  more  notice  of  me  ;  under  cover  of  the  darkness,  I 
arose  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  had  hardly  passe^  half  way  down  the  corridor,  when 
the  baron's  voice  asked:  'Is  that  you,  Roberto?' — 'It 
is  I.' — 'Tell  me,  Roberto,  how  do  you  esteem  your  mas- 
ter ? ' — '  As  wise,  kind,  and  courteous.' — '  Truly  ? ' — '  As 
the  mass.' — '  The  saints  forbid  that  I  should  question 
you,  to  remind  you  of  yoitr  obligations  to  me,  but  how 
do  you  think  I  have  treated  you  ? ' — '  As  a  father  does  a 
beloved  son.' — 'Truly?' — 'On  the  faith  of  a  vassal.' 
'  Then  if  I  should  ask  a  favor  of  you,  would  you  grant 
it  ? ' — '  My  master,  all  that  a  man  can,  I  would  give  for 
you  and  yours,  except  my  soul's  salvation.' — 'Have  you 
a  cuirass  ? ' — '  No,  my  master.' — '  A  dagger  ? ' — '  Yes,  my 
master.' — '  I  ask  of  you  only  the  death  of  a  man.' — '  By 
treachery  ?  ' — '  Just  as  you  like,  so  long  as  you  kill  him  ; 
but  .  .  .  now  that  I  think  of  it,  by  treachery  would  be 
best.' — '  My  master,  it  is  for  you  to  command  ;  it  is  all 
the  same  to  me.' — '  Well  then,  Roberto,  an  hour  before 
day-break,  I  want  you  to  be  on  the  right-hand  terrace  of 
the  castle,  on  the  side  that  looks  towards  the  garden.' 


214  Extreme  Unction. 

'  My  master,  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  which  of  the  two 
terraces  do  you  mean  by  the  right-hand  one?' — 'The 
right  .  .  .  the  right  coming  from  the  'avenue  of  pines.' 
'  If  I  understand,  you  mean  the  one  which  is  under  the 
room  of  my  lady  your  daughter  ?  ' — '  Yes  ; '  and  he 
uttered  the  word  with  effort,  with  a  groan  of  sorrow. 
'  Then  an  hour  before  day-break  be  on  the  terrace,  watch- 
ing, with  your  dagger  in  your  hand ;  you  will  hear  some 
one  descend  ;  wait  till  he  is  near  the  ground,  then  .  .  .' 
'A  good  strong  blow  in  the  back,  my 'master?' — 'Yes. 
...  I  will  come  immediately,  we  will  dig  a  grave  ;  ...  no 
one  will  know  anything  about  the  deed  but  you.' — '  It  will 
be  buried  in  my  heart,  as  his  body  in  the  earth.' — '  I  hope 
so,  though  the  thing  is  not  worth  it,  for  it  is  only  a  rob- 
ber, who  for  several  nights  has  been  trying  to  steal  the 
treasure  of  my  family,  and  perhaps  .  .  .' — '  Yes,  my  mas- 
ter, .  .  .' — '  Still,  as  you  love  me,  be  careful  to  keep  it  a 
secret ;  good-night,  Roberto.'  '  The  Lord  preserve  you, 
my  master.' 

"  I  returned  to  the  hall,  where  the  other  vassals  were 
still  listening  with  the  greatest  attention  to  the  steward's 
legend,  and,  unperceived,  I  reseated  myself  by  the  fire ; 
there,  covering  my  face,  I  began  to  think,  What  is  the 
need  of  this  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  it  cannot  be  a  robber, 
for  the  count  would  have  disposed  his  servants  so  as  to 
prevent  his  escape,  and  thus  taken  him  alive,  and  killed 
him  at  his  leisure.  It  must  be  some  secret  lover  whom 
his  daughter  .  .  .  Oh  !  would  it  not  be  better  to  fulfil  the 
wish  of  those  loving  ones,  than  to  stain  his  aged  hands 
with  blood  ?  But  perhaps  it  is  a  married  man  ;  perhaps 
a  youth  of  lower  rank  ;  it  may  be  even  one  of  his  own 
vassals  ;  perhaps  he  is  now  at  my  side  !  I  turned,  and 
saw  near  me  an  old  falconer  nearly  blind  from  age,  and, 
reassured,  I  resumed  my  train  of  thought.  Will  the  dust 
into  which  my  master's  body  will  resolve  itself  be  golden? 
Can  he  trace  his  lineage  further  back  than  Adam  ? 
Should  I  kill  by  treachery  a  man  to  whom  I  perhaps  have 
sworn  brotherhood?  And  thus  wandering  from  thought 
to  thought,  my  mind  was  so  withdrawn  from  all  that  was 
taking  place  before  my  eyes,  that  when  I  recalled  my 


Extreme  Unction.  215 

scattered  senses,  I  perceived  that  rny  companions  had 
left  me  alone,  and  had  gone  to  rest  without  calling  me. 
Feeling  my  way,  I  went  to  the  garden. 

"  I  had  been  lying  in  wait  about  an  hour,  although  my 
impatience  made  it  seem  like  a  whole  night,  when  I 
heard  a  slight  noise  ;  I  peered  into  the  gloom,  and  saw  a 
black  figure  suspended  in  the  air ;  I  unsheathed  my  dag- 
ger, drew  near,  and  when  I  thought  him  just  within  reach, 
gave  a  desperate  blow.  Fortunately  for  the  unknown,  he 
had  thought  it  well,  when  about  five  feet  from  the  ground, 
to  let  himself  fall  at  once,  so  that  my  dagger  smote  the 
wall,  with  such  force  as  to  strike  fire  :  woe  to  him  if  it 
had  reached  him,  for  it  would  certainly  have  pierced  him 
through.  I  do  not  know  how  it  happened  :  perhaps  the 
unknown  held  his  sword  between  his  teeth  ;  but  I  was 
immediately  attacked  in  a  most  furious  manner.  We  ex- 
changed a  few  blows,  but  overcome  by  his  strength  and 
superior  skill,  I  dropped  my  dagger,  and  receiving  a  blow 
full  on  the  head,  I  fell  to  the  ground.  I  remember, 
although  half  stunned,  that  the  window  over  the  terrace 
opened,  and  the  bare  arm  of  a  woman,  holding  a  light, 
appeared,  then  a  face  as  pale  as  death.  A  sharp  cry  was 
heard,  '  Let  me  die  with  him  ! '  Then  another  voice 
within  said,  '  Holy  Virgin  !  What  are  you  doing,  my 
sweet  lady  ?  You  are  mad  !  .  .  .  My  lady,  perhaps  he  is 
safe.'  A  distant  voice  in  affirmation  exclaimed,  '  I  am 
safe  ! '  While  I  was  trying  to  rise  to  my  feet,  I  heard 
hasty  steps  coming  towards  me,  and  the  voice  of  the 
baron,  asking,  'Where  is  the  body?'  'He  would  not 
be  killed,  my  master,  and  ran  away  after  half  killing  me.' 
The  baron  broke  forth  into  curses,  and  went  away  in  a 
rage. 

"  He  hid  himself  from  every  one  :  shut  up  in  his  room, 
for  a  whole  week  he  neither  said  nor  did  anything,  except 
'to  send  for  a  certain  Rinaldo  d' Aquino,  Count  di  Caserta, 
formerly  very  intimate  at  the  castle,  and  who,  the  servants 
said  among  themselves,  was  a  rejected  suitor  of  my  Lady 
Spina.  At  the  end  of  the  week,  the  vassals  were  ordered 
to  prepare  for  the  nuptials  of  the  baron's  daughter,  which 
were  to  take  place  on  the  following  day.  Although  accus- 


216  Extreme  Unction. 

tomed  to  execute  his  commands  without  comment  or  hes- 
itation, this  hasty  resolution  seemed  to  us  extraordinary, 
and  we  dared  to  say  so  to  each  other,  and  even  to  suspect 
that  it  was  against  my  lady's  will.  She  seldom  appeared 
among  us.  but  we  always  hailed  her  beautiful  presence 
with  a  smile,  and  sighed  when  she  departed  :  she  appeared 
an  angel  among  demons;  conscious  that  prayers  from 
our  lips  would  not  be  acceptable,  we  often  begged  her  to 
pray  for  us ;  we  held  her  as  a  link  between  our  souls  and 
paradise.  No  prayer  was  proffered  by  a  more  fair  or  a 
more  good  creature,  and  perhaps  more  acceptable.  .  .  . 
'  Ah !  father,  do  you  believe  that  my  sin  has  been  really 
forgiven  ? '  said  the  dying  Roberto  to  the  friar,  who  stood 
beside  his  bed  comforting  him.  This  one  replied,  '  May 
you  have  the  faith  of  hope  in  believing  yourself  forgiven, 
as  certainly  as  your  sins  have  been  remitted  you  !  Do 
you  think  that  mercy  is  less  powerful  than  sin  ? — Look  on 
your  Redeemer :  He  holds  His  arms  open  to  embrace 
all  that  have  recourse  to  Him :  has  God  ever  repulsed 
any  sinner  ?  Have  trust,  have  trust  in  God.' 

"  '  I  will  have  trust  in  God,  for  there  remains  nothing 
else  for  me  to  do,'  resumed  the  sick  man,  and  devout- 
ly approached  the  crucifix  to  his  lips.  '  I  remember  it, 
as  if  it  was  now,'  resumed  Roberto,  continuing  the  story, 
'for  I  was  near  by  when  she  kneeled  before  the  altar: 
she  trembled  with  convulsive  shudders  that  might 
have  escaped  looks  less  curious  or  less  affectionate 
than  mine ;  her  nuptial  veil,  spangled  with  gold,  covered 
her  face,  yet  I  was  sure  she  wept ; — her  bosom  heaved 
so  under  her  dress  from  time  to  time,  that  it  seemed  as 
if  it  would  burst ;  still,  you  could  not  hear  a  sigh, 
but  a  heavy  breathing,  like  that  of  the  diver  when  he 
takes  breath  before  diving  under  the  water.  Scandal 
might  have  found  her  form  rather  fuller  than  usual  in  a 
maiden  ;  .  .  .  perhaps  I  did  not  see  right ;  ...  at  any  rate 
I  suspected  so  at  the  time.  We-had  reached  that  terrible 
moment,  in  which  the  priest  demands  of  the  pair  kneeling 
before  him  the  sacrifice  of  all  the  passions,  thoughts,  sighs, 
in  favor  of  one  only  creature  in  this  world,  in  which  he 
binds  the  souls  with  that  chain  whose  links  death  only 


Extreme  Unction.  217 

holds  in  its  hand.  She  opened  her  veil  and  looked  at  her 
father,  and  the  father  looked  back  at  her.  .  .  .  Holy  Vir- 
gin !  What  looks  !  That  of  Lady  Spina  seemed  the  quiv- 
ering flight  of  a  swallow  fallen  from  its  nest  before  its 
feathers  have  grown, — anxious  to  see  and  yet  afraid  to 
meet  the  object  of  its  search ;  it  revealed  a  desperate 
resignation  for  the  loss  of  something  more  than  earthly, — 
it  begged  for  pity.  That  of  Count  Odrisio  was  at  first  benev- 
olent, and,  if  I  mistook  it  not,  a  mist  of  tears  began  to 
issue  from  the  inferior  cavity  of  the  eye.  All  of  a  sudden 
it  gleamed  like  an  infernal  lightning :  who  knows  but  the 
evil  spirit  passed  through  it  in  that  moment?  He  re- 
mained immovable,  with  an  expression  of  bitter  reproach, 
of  profound  anger,  and  yet  entreating  for  mercy  :  my  soul 
felt  then,  but  could  not  repeat  now,  the  sensations  that 
agitated  it.  The  fatal  consent  was  forced  from  her  pale 
lips,  the  blessing  given  ;  I  heard  both  the  consent  and 
the  blessing  like  the  sound  of  the  axe  upon  the  block 
after  having  severed  the  head.  I  rushed  away  from  the 
chapel :  that  wedding  was  not  a  happy  one.  The  next 
morning  we  found  Count  Odrisio  dead  in  his  bed  ;  we 
mourned  for  him  as  for  a  man  who  had  done  us  neither 
good  nor  harm.  .  .  .  Count  Rinaldo  came  to  live  in  the 
castle,  and  for  us  vassals  the  marriage  only  changed  the 
coat-of-arms.  ...  If  whilst  Count  Odrisio  lived  we  seldom 
set  our  eyes  on  Lady  Spina,  now  she  had  become  quite 
invisible  :  one  month  after  the  fatal  marriage  I  saw  her 
cross  the  gratings  of  the  chapel ;  her  eyes  were  red 
and  swollen,  the  rest  of  her  face  pale,  her  lips  violet ;  her 
skin  sunk  into  the  bones  ;  I  signed  me  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross  in  pity  for  her,  for  if  death  might  not  be  fright- 
ful upon  the  face  of  beauty,  illness  certainly  is.  And 
Count  Bjnaldo  ?  He  also  had  been  a  very  handsome 
man,  fond  of  hunting,  of  tournaments,  and  of  every  other 
knightly  exercise  ;  now,  disordered  in  his  person,  he  wan- 
dered through  the  pine  lanes,  wailing  with  painful  exclam- 
ations, and  losing  every  day  the  fairness  of  his  face,  the 
color  of  his  cheeks  ;  the  horses  idling  in  the  grass  of  the 
fields,  the  dogs  crouching  in  the  yard  or  near  the  fire-place, 
the  falcons  resting  on  their  perches  :  nothing  availed  to 
10 


218  Extreme  Unction. 

cheer  him  from  his  mortal  gloom,  neither  the  frequent  visits 
that  King  Manfred  paid  him,  nor  the  office  of  constable, 
the  very  first  in  the  kingdom,  to  which  he  was  raised  about 
that  time.  The  servants,  following  the  moods  of  their 
masters,  went  about  with  their  heads  low,  without  even 
saluting  each  other.  It  was  a  house  full  of  gloom,  pre  , 
destined  to  misfortune. 

"  Retiring  late  one  night  to  my  little  room,  I  felt  an  in- ' 
clination  to  pass  near  the  apartment  of  the  count :  hardly 
had  I  placed  my  foot  on  the  threshold  of  the  hall,  than  I 
heard  a  sound  of  persons  speaking.  I  approached  softly, 
listening :  the  wind  that  night  blew  so  hard,  that  the 
words  could  not  reach  me  in  full ;  notwithstanding  I  stood 
listening  :  '  Count  Odrisio,  you  have  betrayed  me  !  had 
I  the  power,  your  soul  would  not  have  rest  under  the 
earth ; '  .  .  .  the  wind  carried  off  what  followed ;  when  it 
slacked  blowing,  I  heard  from  a  different  voice  :  '  irrepar- 
able .  .  .'  and  the  force  of  the  wind  prevented  me  from 
hearing  further.  '  She  got  out  of  bed,'  added  the  first 
voice,  that  seemed  to  me  that  of  Count  Rinaldo.  '  I 
was  awake,  but  pretended  to  sleep  .  .  .'  and  then  a  new 
interruption  :  '  I  rose  before  her,  found  the  letter,  and 
read  :  'Your  wonder,  prince,  at  my  obstinate  repugnance 
to  betray  my  marriage  vow  is  very  offensive  to  me,  but  it 
is  deserved  ;  for  the  woman  who  has  betrayed  her  first  duty 
can  betray  her  second,  and  all  ...  nor  do  I  complain  of 
it,  for  I  consider  it  one  of  the  lightest  of  the  punishments 
with  which  Eternal  Justice  makes  me  atone  for  my 
father's  death  :  happy  if  ..."  a  blast  of  wind  snatched 
away  the  last  words ;  and  after  that,  what  with  the 
shaking  of  the  windows  and  the  whistling  of  the  wind 
through  the  hall,  I  could  not  hear,  except  now  from 
Count  Rinaldo,  now  from  the  other  voice,  these  broken 
sentences  :  '  He  might  have  taken  my  life,  not  my  honor. 
.  .  .  that  child  will  never  carry  the  escutcheon  of  Aquino' 
...  it  was  a  deception  ...  a  crime  .  .  .  you  have  only  to 
say  the  word  ...  I  will  think  of  the  rest  ...  it  is  all  over 
.  .  .  the  dead  do  not  speak  .  .  .'  I  withdrew  cautiously, 
because  I  thought  they  were  coming  towards  my  way  ; 
the  adventure  of  the  night  when  I  was  defeated,  the 


Extreme  Unction.  219 

altered  figure,  the  hastened  marriage  of  Lady  Spina,  had 
revealed  to  me  a  great  deal,  but  much  more  the  words 
which  J  had  just  heard.  One  evening,  while  I  was  going 
all  alone  towards  the  gate  of  the  castle  to  see  whether  it 
was  well  shut,  I  met  a  certain  Count  della  Cerra,  who, 
being  rather  in  reduced  circumstances,  often  came  to  the 
castle  of  my  lord,  and  had  ingratiated  himself  so  much  in 
his  good  graces,  that  he  had  made  him  the  recipient  of  all 
his  secret  thoughts.  '  Vassal/  said  he,  '  what  would  you 
do  to  obtain  your  liberty  ? ' — '  What  would  I  do  ?  say  > 
yourself  what  would  I  do,  for,  for  my  part,  I  don't  know 
it  myself.' — '  A  very  little  service  is  required  of  you, 
which  your  master  could  command  of  you,  but  which  he 
prefers  to  beg  of  you,  and  in  recompense  he  offers  you 
your  liberty,  and  a  comfortable  estate.' — 'And  what  is 
it?' — 'A  poniard  thrust.' — 'I  have  given  hundreds  to 
my  loss  ;  imagine  if  I  would  not  give  one  to  my  profit.' 
'  But  mark,  it  must  be  given  to  one  asleep,  with  great 
caution,  in  the  dark,  having  nothing  else  with  you  but 
your  poniard.' — '  Is  it  not  a  question  of  killing  a  man  ?  the 
poniard  is  all  that  is  required  ;  .  .  .  would  that  make  any 
difference  with  you  ? ' — '  Not  for  me,  Roberto,  but  for  you 
who  are  accustomed  to  use  your  arms,  as  it  behooves  a 
loyal  man.'  '  If  I  fight  in  the  day-time,  that  is  no  reason 
why  I  would  not  more  willingly  fight  in  the  night  ;  and  if 
I  strike  on  the  breast,  it  is  no  reason  I  would  not  strike 
better  on  the  back  ;  when  I  can  go  by  the  level  road,  I 
choose  neither  the  ascent  nor  the  precipice.' — '  Well 
said,  vassal  :  then  hold  yourself  ready  for  to-morrow  even- 
ing at  this  hour,  and  I  will  conduct  you  to  the  spot.' 
— '  But,'  continued  I,  '  my  good  sir,  I  cannot  obey  you 
without  the  certainty  that  the  baron  will  affranchise  me 
from  the  servitude  in  which  I  was  born.'  — '  Vassal, 
would  you  doubt  the  faith  of  your  baron  ? '  —  '  Not 
that  of  my  baron,  but  .  .  .' — 'Whose?'  —  'Yours.'  — 
'  And  what  reason  have  you,  vassal,  to  distrust  me  ? ' — 
'And  what  reason  have  I  to  trust  you?' — '  Do  you  not 
see  me  riding  daily  by  the  side  of  your  baron  ?  do  you 
think  that  I  would  ask  you  to  do  anything  that  he  had  not 
ordered  me?' — 'Is  the  race  of  traitors  now  totally  ex- 


22O  Extreme  Unction. 

tinct?' — At  this  point  I  noticed  the  count's  eyes  flash 
fire  and  his  cheeks  redden,  but  he  dared  not  show  himself 
angry,  for  I  had  the  reputation  of  being  bloodthirsty,  and 
he  feared  much. — 'Very  well ;  not  to  have  any  more  words 
about  it,  what  do  you  desire  that  I  should  bring  as  a  token 
of  your  master's  will  ? ' — '  I  do  not  know  :  you  mention 
something." — '  Say  his  signet  ring? ' — '  That  would  be  suffi- 
cient, my  master. — 'Then  meet  me  here  to-morrow  at  the 
same  hour,  and  I  will  bring  it.' — There  was  no  gainsaying 
it ;  I  saw  his  very  signet-ring ;  I  looked  at  it,  turned  it  over 
and  over  to  see  whether  there  was  any  deception  ;  it 
was  really  his  ring. — 'You  tremble?'  'said  Count  della 
Cerra,»when,  after  having  made  me  go  over  a  long  distance 
with  eyes  bandaged,  he  led  me  into  a  subterranean  passage. 
— 'Yes,  I  tremble,  but  with  cold.' — 'Sometimes  one 
trembles  also  for  fear.1 — '  Yes,  .  .  .  but  it  is  easily  dis- 
cerned when  one  trembles  for  fear  or  for  cold.' — '  This 
we  shall  prove  now,  for  we  are  at  the  place.' — He  took 
away  my  bandage ;  I  was  surrounded  by  darkness, 
.  .  .  darkness,  meet  company  of  crime. — '  Now  you  must 
try  to  descend  by  this  opening  very  noiselessly,  it  is 
only  two  feet  from  the  ground ;  put  down  one  leg  first, 
then  another  ;  then  move  three  steps  to  the  right,  and 
you  will  find  yourself  near  a  bed,  where  sleeps  .  .  .' — 
'  Who  sleeps  ? '  —  '  What  matters  to  you  to  know  who 
sleeps  there?  your  business  is  only  to  finish  him.' — 
'  What  matters  to  me  ?  it  matters  a  great  deal :  might 
he  not  be  a  relative  of  mine  ? ' — '  Did  I  not  tell  you 
that  you  were  afraid  ?  come  back,  let  me  replace  the 
bandage,  and  take  you  back  to  the  castle.' — '  Reply  to 
me,  first  (and  here,  father,  I  proffered  a  cruel  oath),  '  re- 
ply to  me,  is  .he  a  relative  of  mine  ?  ' — '  He  is  not  your 
relative.' — '  Is  he  a  friend  of  mine?' — '  He  is  not  your 
friend.' — 'No?' — 'No,  as  true  as  He  who  is  to  judge 
us.' — 'Now  you  will  see  whether  I  am  afraid.' — I  de- 
scended on  tip-toe,  groping  with  my  left  hand  in  the  dark, 
the  poniard  in  my  right ;  I  felt  the  body  of  the  sleeping 
person,  took  aim  at  his  heart,  placed  the  point  over  it, 
raised  my  hand,  thrust  it  ...  what  a  piercing  cry  ! " 
And  the  dying  man  closed  his  ears  with  his  hands  as  if  it 


Extreme  Unction.  221 

had  struck  them  in  that  moment.  "  Count  Anselmo  clella 
Cerra,  advancing  to  the  threshold  opened  a  dark  lan- 
tern, and  asked:  '  Is  SHE  dead?' — Thrones  of  heaven! 
a  ray  of  light  striking  on  the  bloody  bed,  revealed 
to  me  in  the  murdered  the  face  of  Lady  Spina.  I 
ran  about  the  room  blind  with  rage,  yelling  like  a  mad- 
man, when  an  infant  cry  was  added  to  the  tumult  ol 
anger,  fear  and  terror.  Staggering,  I  approached  the  bed, 
moved  the  covering  ;  horrible  sight  !— a  new-born  infant 
was  lying  near  her,  besmeared  with  her  blood.  The  un- 
happy mother  had  yet  strength  enough  to  raise  herself  a 
moment  to  a  sitting  posture,  lift  up  the  child  to  her  breast, 
and  kiss  him.  In  doing  this,  the*  blood  which  spurted  out 
of  her  wound  stained  the  face  of  the  child,  and  the  mother, 
opening  painfully  her  mouth,  pronounced  with  difficulty 
the  following  words  : —  '  Unhappy  child,  blood  is  the  only 
milk  that  your  poor  mother  can  give  you,' — and  she  fell. 
I  wrapped  the  baby  in  some  linens,  ran  towards  Count 
Cerra,  and  hardly  knowing  what  I  was  doing,  placed  him 
in  his  hands. — '  Anselmo,  what  have  you  done  ?  An- 
selmo ! ' — thus  rushing  down  anxiously  through  the  corri- 
dor was  heard  Count  Rinaldo  crying,  who,  as  he  per- 
ceived that  atrocious  spectacle,  fell  senseless  to  the  floor. 
— '  I  have  not  overstepped  your  orders,  Rinaldo,'  replied 
Count  della  Cerra,  grinning,  '  and  therefore  you  are 
bound  to  protect  me  from  all  responsibility,  both  in  this 
world  and  in  the  next.'  What  can  I  tell  you  more  of  this 
demon  incarnate  ?  Taking  advantage  of  the  swpon  of 
Count  Caserta,  he  proposed  to  me  to  dash  the  child's 
brains  against  the  wall,  so  as  to  get  rid  of  him,  as  he  said. 
I  ordered  him  not  to  attempt  it,  for  that  little  soul  going 
to  Limbo  would  have  surely  preceded  his  in  the  way  to 
perdition  ;  thus  I  saved  the  child.  Count  Rinaldo  hardly 
recovered  one  half  of  his  intellect  after  that  swoon ;  he  re- 
membered the  loss  of  his  wife,  for  he  felt  it  at  every  mo- 
ment; the  other  horrors  he  forgot,  or,  if  even  they  ap- 
peared to  his  mind,  he  believed  that  they  proceeded  from 
his  terrified  imagination.  Anselmo  della  Cerra,  after  a 
short  while,  changing  his  mind  for  some  shrewd  design  of 
his,  not  only  did  not  wish  the  child  killed,  but  instead,  hav- 


222  Extreme  Unction. 

ing  first  made  me  swear  upon  the  holy  saints  that  I  would 
never  reveal  his  birth  to  a  living  soul,  ^e  aided  me  with 
money  and  advice  in  order  to  bring  him  up.  This  child 
grew  up  blessed  by  God  and  men  ;  introduced  into  the 
court  of  King  Manfred,  he  so  much  pleased  him,  that  he 
was  admitted  first  among  his  pages,  and,  when  he  was 
grown  up,  among  his  esquires ;  ...  he  would  still  have 
been  there,  if .  .  .  ' 

"If  what?" 

"  If  now  he  was  not  before  me." 

Gentle  reader,  if  you  belong  to  the  number  of  the 
elect  that  feel,  you  will  understand  that  the  art  of  writing, 
possessing  only  words  to  demonstrate  the  state  of  the  soul, 
can  with  great  difficulty  describe  it  in  a  suitable  manner  ; 
for,  to  the  greater  part  of  men  born  with  frozen  hearts, 
those  words  mean  nothing,  and  to  the  lesser  part  that  feel, 
very  little  ;  because  the  sensations  which  we  describe  are 
not  only  rare,  but  unique,  and  belong  to  the  diabolical 
science  of  degflfcing  the  soul. 

Rogiero  found  himself  at  once  deprived  of  one  father, 
without  their  letting  him  know  another;  uprooted  from  a 
sad  certainty,  to  be  thrown  into  a  more  painful  doubt ; 
from  misfortune  hurled  into  sin.  Much  he  had  despised, 
until  then,  human  nature  and  his  own  ;  now  he  abhorred 
it,  because  he  saw  the  passions  which  he  considered 
generous  changed  for  him  into  instruments  of  infamy. 
His  innocence  had  induced  him  to  trust  to  other  people's 
word ;  his  compassion,  to  suppose  as  his  father  one  who  was 
not  such ;  his  filial  affection,  to  betray  his  king  to  avenge 
his  betrayed  father.  Such  complication  of  mysterious 
events,  so  many  traps  set  to  drag  him  to  crime,  his  dear- 
est affections  used  as  a  mockery,  rage,  shame,  anguish, 
so  affected  him,  that,  seizing  the  bars  of  the  bedstead, 
urged  by  irresistible  frenzy,  he  shook  it  so  violently,  that 
the  patient,  the  coverings,  and  everything  else  that  stood 
on  it  trembled  ;  the  crucifix  fell  to  the  ground  ;  the  dying 
man  embraced  his  confessor  and  hid  his  face  in  his 
bosom. 

"And  did  not  justice  avenge  that  crime?  Could  it 
have  remained  hidden  from  men's  revenge  ?  " 


Extreme  Unction.  •    -'  223 

"  Oh  !  pray  God  that  the  powerful  may  not  desire  a 
crime,  for  they  care  little  even  to  hide  it,  and  no  one 
avenges  it." 

"And  the  fratricide  that  they  told  me  of  King  Man- 
fred ?  " 

"  It  was  false." 

"  And  my  being  the  son  of  Henry  the  Cripple?  " 

"  False." 

"And  Henry?" 

"  He  had  been  left  alive,  as  I  believe,  in  order  to  put 
him  in  opposition  to  Manfred  in  the  question  about  the 
succession  of  the  kingdom  ;  but  having  lost  his  brains 
through  long  suffering,  they  preserved  him  alive,  either 
because  they  dared  not  kill  him,  or  because  even  from 
that  time  they  had  planned  to  represent  him  to  you  as 
your  father,  and  thus  incite  you  to  betray  your  king." 

"This  is  a  miracle  of  wickedness!  And  you  knew 
this,  Roberto?" 

"  I  knew  it." 

"  And  you  betrayed  me  ?  " 

"  They  had  sworn  to  make  me  rich,  and  not  to  kill  me." 

"  Wretched  soul !  be  accursed  through  all  eternity  !  " 

"  Oh,  father !  do  you  hear  him  ?  .  .  .  Had  you  not 
forgiven  me  ?  say,  did  you  not  swear  to  forgive  me  ?" 

"  If  I  have  sworn,  now  I  forswear  :  wherever  your 
spirit  be  called,  I  will  pursue  it  with  incessant,  intermin- 
able curses.  ..." 

"  Say  not  so,  Rogiero  !  .  .  .  Father,  pray  him  not  to 
say  so  !  tell  him  how  much  penance  I  have  undergone  to 
atone  for  my  sins.  ...  I  at  least  saved  your  life." 

"  I  have  cursed  him  who  gave  it  to  me  :  and -if.  you  had 
done  me  no  other  injury,  I  would  curse  you  for  having 
preserved  it.  Die  accursed  !  " 

"  Unmerciful  !  a  day  will  come  in  which  you  will  pay 
bitterly  for  your  cruelty  : — soon  to  appear  before  the  tri- 
bunal of  God.  I  feel  that  my  crimes  are  too  many,  and 
too  heavy  to  be  remitted.  .  .  .  Your  forgiveness  would  not 
have  availed  me,  but  it  would  have  availed  you,  when  in 
your  turn  you  will  be  judged.  Once  again  .  .  .  will  you 
keep  your  oath  ?  " 


224  Extreme  Unction. 

"No." 

"  Then  go  and  let  me  die  in  peace." 

"  No  :  until  th'e  veil  of  death  shall  have  fallen  on 
your  eyes,  I  will  stand  before  you,  so  that  you  may 
despair  and  die." 

Hardly  had  Rogiero  finished  those  bitter  words,  when 
the  door  of  the  cell  opened,  and  there  appeared  two  files 
of  monks  carrying  burning  tapers  in  their  hands ;  the  last 
to  come,  venerable  in  aspect,  was  the  friar  whom  Rogiero 
had  met  in  the  grave-yard,  bearing  under  a  silk  covering 
the  holy  oil  for  the  extreme  unction.  He  advanced  to 
the  bed ;  but  at  the  sight  of  Rogiero,  who  with  his  hand 
raised  was  in  the  act  of  cursing,  and  that  of  Roberto, 
who,  supplicating,  terrified  at  the  near  approach  of  perdi- 
tion, bathed  in  perspiration,  seemed  to  have  exhausted  all 
means  by  which  a  man  can  move  another  to  compas- 
sion, he  understood  the  case.  Therefore  turning  to  the 
offender,  with  that  dignity  which  is  derived  from  zeal,  he 
touched  his  forehead,  saying  :  "  Creature  born  to  die,  can 
you  preserve  your  hatred  forever  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,  father,  whether  I  can,  but  I  do  wish  to." 

"Worthy  son  of  the  fallen  race  of  Adam,  your  feelings 
are  as  base  as  the  dust  from  which  you  sprang,  and  the 
worms  to  which  you  will  return." 

"  He  murdered  my  mother  !  "  cried  Rogiero,  pointing 
to  the  dying  man  ;  "  how  could  I  help  cursing  him  ?  " 

"  He,"  replied  the  friar,  raising  his  finger  to  heaven, 
"  allowed  His  Son  to  be  killed  in  order  to  bless." 

"  I  am  not  indeed  God." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  dust ;  but  there  lives  within  you 
a  spark  of  divinity,  a  particle  of  the  intellect  of  God,  that 
ought  to  exert  all  its  power  to  follow  the  example  of  its 
Maker,  and  to  please  Him  and  be  worthy  of  that  glory  to 
which  He  calls  us  with  all  the  wonders  of  creation.  The 
Eternal,  without  sin,  forgave  unasked  our  sins  ;  you,  who 
are  a  sinner,  forgive  it  also  ;  we  all  beg  you  for  it  kneeling 
at  your  feet." 

Saying  which,  he  fell  at  the  feet  of  Rogiero,  and  raising 
his  hands,  he  entreated  him  with  the  most  loving  expres- 
sion. The  other  friars,  following  the  motion  of  the  abbot, 


Extreme  Unction.  225 

did   likewise,    and   all   together   with   one   voice   cried, 
"  Forgive,  .  .  .  forgive  ! " 

"  If  even  they  gave  me  dominion  over  the  thunder- 
bolt, ...  if  even  power  should  be  granted  me  over  the 
minds  of  men,  .  .  .  and  everything  created  had  a  voice 
to  exalt  me,  and  myriads  of  angels  would  sing  to  me 
Hosannah  forever,  I  would  never  forswear  my  curse.  Be 
acursed ! "  cried  he,  with  a  powerful  voice,  shaking  both 
his  hands  upon  the  dying  man  ;  "  and  with  me,  may  all 
the  substances  that  have  a  body,  and  the  intellectual,  the 
dead,  the  living  and  the  unborn  curse  you  !  may  from 
these  hands  fall  fire  and  brimstone  on  your  soul,  and  upon 
the  souls  of  your  companions  in  crime  !  may  there  never 
be  a  mouth  but  to  curse  you,  nor  a  creature  who  would 
not  rejoice  at  your  torments  !  "  .  .  . 

He  thrust  aside  the  old  man  who  was  embracing  his 
knees,  and  with  a  stride  rushed  out  of  the  cell.  Part  of 
the  sacred  oil  was  spilled  upon  the  ground,  but  the  abbot, 
helped  to  rise  by  the  bystanders,  collected  what  was  left, 
and  approached  the  bed  to  administer  the  holy  office ; 
already  with  his  hand  raised  over  the  eyes  of  the  dying 
man,  he  had  begun  :  "  Per  istam  sanctam  unctionem,  et 
snam,"  ....  when  the  confessor  from  the  other  side  of  the 
bed,  with  a  faint  voice  whispered,  "  He  is  dead." 

The  abbot  looked  more  attentively,  and  saw  Roberto 
with  his  eyes  and  lips  open  ;  a  mortal  pallor  overspread 
his  cheeks  ;  he  seemed  alive.  He  placed  a  hand  upon 
his  heart;  it  felt  as  if  he  had  placed  it  upon  marble.  He 
took  a  corner  of  the  sheet  and  covered  his  face,  saying, 
"  He  is  gone  in  peace  ! " 
10* 


226  The  Demoniac. 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   DEMONIAC. 

Che  di  amara  radice 

Amare  foglie,  e  amaro  frutto  nasce ; 

II  misero  si  pasce 

D'orrore,  e  di  paura, 

Di  lacrime  e  sospiri, 

Sempre  in  nuovi  martiri, 

E  per  lui  solo  al  mondo  il  pianto  dura. 

ORESTE,  Tragedia  Antica. 

.  .  .  From  bitter  roots 

Spring  bitter'leaves  and  bitter  fruits ; 

Still  feeds  the  wretched  one 

On  shocks  of  horror,  tears  and  sighs. 

Ever  new  sufferings  are  begun, 

For  him  alone  the  salt  tear  never  dries. 

M.   G.  M. 

|UN, — quick,  Beltramo,  bring  me  my  armor 
immediately, — and  my  lance, — and  sword, — 
and—" 

"Dagger?" 

/"  Yes  indeed,  my  dagger.  The  noblest  invention  for 
destruction  that  the  human  mind  can  boast . . .  the  dagger. 
Saddle  my  horse.  .  .  ." 

"  Holy  Saints  !  Do  you  intend  to  depart,  Sir  Knight  ? 
Think  what  you  are  doing,  for  your  wounds  are  only  just 
healing  ;  and,  weak  as  you  are,  I  do  not  know  whether .  . ." 
"  Go  and  do  what  I  tell  you.  What  has  made  you  so 
eager  to  look  after  my  welfare  ?  Who  told  you  to  take 
care  of  my  health  ?  He  who  could  or  should  care  for  it, 
does  not  at  all;  and  would  you  wish  to,  simpleton,  who 
are  not  competent  to  think  for  yourself?  Do  you  pre- 
tend to  be  less  sad,  less  weak,  less  wicked  than  I  ?  " 

"  May  I  die  excommunicated,  Sir  Knight,  if  I  under- 
stand a  syllable  of  what  you  say.  Have  you  not  possibly 
seen  a  goblin  in  the  forest  ?  Come,  do  not  persist  in 
going  now ;  Sir  Ghino  has  not  yet  returned,  and  it  would 
not  be  at  all  courteous  to  go  away  without  taking  leave." 


The  Demoniac.  227 

"  Why  speak  of  courtesy  to  me,  fellow,  when  others 
betray  me  in  jest,  break  my  heart  in  sport,  and  come,  as 
if  to  a  show,  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  my  grief?  My  arms, 
I  say,  my  arms  ! " 

"  Ah,  Sir  Knight !  you  will  throw  away  your  life  at 
any  rate.  Life  is  life,  however,  and  once  lost,  cannot  be 
bought  back  for  money.  It  would  be  a  great  sin,  too,  for 
you  to  die  so  miserably ;  for  you  seem  strong  and  valiant. 
First  get  well  cured,  and  you  will  not  want  for  opportuni- 
ties to  leave  this  world.  .  .  ." 

"  Where  is  my  armor  ?  " 

"  Holy  Saints  !  Ah,  Sir  Knight !  if  you  have  no  love 
for  yourself,  at  least  have  some  for  me.  Consider,  I  be- 
seech you,  that  the  iron  nibbing  against  your  wounds, 
would  reopen  them  in  less  than  an  hour." 

"  Oh  !  what  a  fate  is  mine,  that  the  hatred  and  the  love 
of  men  should  be  equally  troublesome  to  me  !  " 

This  dialogue,  as  my  readers  will  have  guessed,  took 
place  between  Rogiero,  who,  after  leaving  the  convent, 
had  returned  to  Ghino's  house,  and  Beltramo,  the  chari- 
table watcher  with  the  dying  Drengotto.  When  Rogiero 
ceased  speaking,  he  became  thoughtful,  and  bowed  his 
head  in  his  hands.  Beltramo,  seeing  that  he  was  speaking 
to  the  wind,  thought  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was 
to  execute  his  orders.  The  bandit  had  hardly  left  the 
room,  when  Rogiero,  shaking  his  head,  began  to  walk 
hastily  to  and  fro. 

"  I  will  prostrate  myself  before  his  throne,"  he  cried  ; 
"  I  will  prostrate.  .  .  .  Shall  I,  who  would  never  have 
bowed  before  a  mortal,  fall  at  his  feet  ?  Yes,  I  will,  for 
my  pride  sprang  from  my  innocence.  .  .  .  Oh  !  how  crime 
degrades  ! " 

"  Here  is  your  armor,  Sir  Knight,"  said  Beltramo, 
entering. 

Rogiero,  not  heeding  him,  continued  :  "Was  my  crime 
voluntary  ?  I  would  have  welcomed  death  to  escape  it ; 
and  yet  I  bear  the  penalty.  This  is  a  grievous  path  ; 
misfortune  lashes  me  on,  that  I  may,  without  resting, 
reach  the  end ;  and  at  the  end,  infamy  awaits  me.  .  .  ." 

"  Your  armor,  Sir  Knigbt."  .  .  . 


228  The  Demoniac. 

"  Now  I  fear  the  repose  of  earth,  because  it  would  fall 
upon  me  like  a  load  upon  the  obstinate  man  who  would 
burden  himself  with  more  than  he  had  strength  to  carry 
.  .  .  and  it  would  not  be  voluntary  .  .  .  nor  should  I  have 
the  same  reasons  as  before  to  excuse  myself .  .  .  nor  to 
accuse  him.  .  .  .  Should  I  not  ?  .  .  .  Am  I  not  surrounded 
by  snares  ?  Have  they  not  dragged  me  to  ruin  as  they 
would  a  murderer  to  the  gallows  ?  I  will  boldly  say  to 
him 

"Your  armor,  Sir  Knight,  your  armor." 

"What  should  I  do  with  armor?  My  enemy  is  invin- 
cible ;  sword  and  spear  are  of  no  avail  against  him  ;  he 
fights  with  the  will.  Greater  strength  than  mine,  greater 
courage,  have  lost  the  battle.  Take  away  this  armor  ;  it 
mocks  my  weakness ;  for  there  is  no  created  thing  that 
cannot  destroy  this  feeble  covering  of  flesh." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Knight,  but  did  you  not  send 
me  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  send  you  for  it  ?     Did  you  understand  me  rightly  ?" 

"  Take  from  me  any  faculty  you  like,  and  you  will  not 
hear  a  complaint ;  but  in  my  ears,  Sir  Knight,  I  believe 
I  am  as  good  as  any  man." 

Rogiero  made  a  gesture  as  if  trying  to  recall  something 
which  had  escaped  his  memory.  "  If  I  said  so,  I  certainly 
was  right.  .  .  .  Oh  !  condition  that  excites  laughter,  for  it 
is  beyond  weeping,"  he  said,  with  a  scornful  look.  "  Ah  ! 
I  remember  now.  Was  I  not  to  prostrate  myself,  and  ask 
pardon  ?  "  He  colored  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and  after 
a  short  pause,  resumed :  "  It  is  not  with  that,  not  with 
that,  that  humiliation  begins  :  it  follows  sin  like  its  shadow. 
It  maybe  increased  by  humbling  one's  self;  but  now  the 
degradation  is  complete.  Give  me  my  cuirass." 

Beltramo,  obeying  the  command,  helped  him  to  pass  his 
arms  through  the  openings  at  the  shoulders,  and  began  to 
fasten  it,  clasping  the  buckles  that  went  from  under  the 
right  armpit  to  the  waist ;  for  cuirasses,  corselets,  coats- 
of-mail,  and  similar  pieces  of  armor  were  made  like 
modern  vests,  except  that  they  were  hinged  on  one  side 
so  as  to  open  and  shut,  and  on  the  other,  as  we  have 
said,  they  had  several  buckles  by  which  they  were  fastened 


The  Demoniac.  229 

upon  the  wearer.  Beltramo,  busily  engaged  in  clasping 
them,  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  an  exclamation  of 
pain  from  Rogiero,  who  cried  :  "  Ah  !  How  much  have 
my  enemies  given  you  to  murder  me  ?  "  and  with  a  quick 
motion,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  back  to  see  if  he  were 
wounded. 

"Sir  Knight,"  replied  Beltramo,  drawing  back,  "do 
you  believe  yourself  really  among  banditti  ?  Did  I  not 
tell  you  that  your  wounds  were  not  yet  wholly  cured  ? 
And  this  one  will  give  you  more  pain  on  your  journey 
than  any  other,  for  it  comes  just  under  a  buckle  of  the 
cuirass.  How  have  I  injured  you  that  you  should  so 
strangely  suspect  me?" 

Rogiero  turned  to  Beltramo  with  such  a  smile  as  one 
wears  when  listening  to  words  without  much  meaning, 
and  said  :  "  Every  man  is  good  till  he  becomes  wicked  ; 
nor  does  the  absence  of  crime  argue  rectitude  of  mind  : 
who  knows  how  many  you  may  have  committed  in  inten- 
tion ?  But  you  will  answer  that  your  hand  has  not  carried 
out  the  treachery  of  your  thought ;  do  you  think  that  you 
are  on  that  account  less  guilty?  Perhaps  opportunity 
was  wanting ;  but  that  may  present  itself  at  any  moment. 
You  look  incredulous.  Do  you  not  believe  it  ?  Sound 
your  own  heart,  braggart,  and  tell  me,  if  you  dare,  that 
you  have  never  conceived  crime  in  your  mind." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Knight,  but  I  think  the  best 
thing  for  our  hearts  is  to  leave  them  in  peace.  For  rny- 
self,  I  do  not  believe  that  I  am  better  or  worse  than  most 
other  men.  This  I  know  for  certain,  that  I  would  not  be- 
tray any  one,  much  less  you,  Sir  Knight ;  moreover,  I 
am  a  plain  man,  and  do  not  understand  such  subtleties. 
But  think  as  you  please  about  it ;  it  does  not  trouble  me 
at  all.  So  approach  without  fear,  if  you  wish  me  to  fin- 
ish fastening  your  cuirass ;  or  rather,  if  you  will  for  once 
take  advice,  let  me  remove  it,  so  that,  staying  a  few  days 
longer,  you  may  entirely  recover  your  health." 

Rogiero,  approaching  Beltramo,  ordered  him  to  finish 
arming  him  ;  and  although  from  time  to  time  the  iron, 
pressing  upon  his  unhealed  wounds,  gave  him  sharp  tor- 
ture, he  no  longer,  as  before,  suspected  treachery,  but 


230  The  Demoniac. 

expressed  his  agony  only  by  a  stifled  groan.  Then  Beltra- 
mo  would  stop  and  look  up  at  him.  The  expression  of 
pain  had  passed  away  from  Rogiero's  face,  and  his  features 
were  set  in  a  certain  majestic  impassiveness,  which  neither 
appeared  nor  was  natural  to  them,  but  was  called  there 
by  force,  and  there  by  force  compelled  to  remain,  from  a 
lofty  impulse  of  pride;  which  was  a  sublime,  and  at  the 
same  time  a  moving,  spectacle. 

"When,"  said  Rogiero,  "when  Sir  Ghino  returns,  tell 
him  that  since  our  nature  is  so  base,  that  our  sorrows  are 
lessened  or  soothed  by  the  recital  of  others'  woes,  let  him 
be  comforted  by  hearing  mine,  for  his,  in  comparison,  are 
mere  child's  play.  Tell  him  that  I  left  him  not  to  sadden 
him,  if  he  truly  loves  me,  with  the  knowledge  of  my  terri- 
ble story  ;  or  if  his  love  is  mere  pretence,  not  to  give  him 
pleasure  ;  or  rather  it  is  better  to  say  nothing  whatever. 
From  my  history  he  can  learn  only  evil ;  it  will  teach  that 
honor,  that  constancy,  avail  nothing ;  that  love,  charity, 
and.  every  other  generous  emotion  avail  nothing  ;  that  a 
power  which  we  cannot  resist  forces  us  onward ;  that 
there  is  no  man  living  who  can  boast  himself  guiltless, 
— if  he  does,  he  is  a  fool :  and  when  an  opportunity  offers, 
his  soul  will  belie  itself; — in  short,  everything  that  it  is 
better  not  to  know,  the  knowledge  of  which  prostrates  in- 
stead of  arousing  the  inind,  and  makes  it  groan  under  the 
weight  of  humanity,  like  a  slave  under  the  weight  of  the 
task  assigned  him/'  In  this  strain  he  might  have  long 
continued  adding  error  to  error,  had  not  Beltramo,  fast- 
ening the  last  strap,  said,  "  It  is  finished." 

"  Happy  shall  I  be  when  those  words  are  spoken  over 
my  corpse  !  Still,  who  knows  whether,  even  in  the  grave, 
some  affliction  does  not  await  me,  and  whether  even  there 
I  am  sure  of  finding  rest !  Nevertheless,  I  cannot  hope  for 
it  elsewhere,  since  we  have  only  life  and  death,  and  I 
despair  of  ever  finding  it  in  the  former." 

Beltramo  having  finished  arming  him,  he  left  the  room, 
and  descended  into  the  court-yard,  where  he  found  his 
good  steed  Allah  just  saddled,  and  held  by  a  groom. 
Without  another  word,  he  put  his  foot  in  the  stirrup, 
mounted,  and  rode  out  of  the  court.  Just  as  he  passed 


The  Demoniac.  231 

through  the  gate,  Ghino,  returning  with  some  of  his  men 
from  the  expedition,  appeared  before  him,  crossing  his. 
path. 

"Whither,  prince?" 

"  Whither  it  pleases  Him  who  has  deprived  me  of  father 
and  innocence  at  one  blow." 

"  You  give  me  strange  tidings,  Rogiero  :  will  you  have 
the  goodness  to  explain  them,  and  tell  me  what  has  hap- 
pened to  you?" 

"  Do  not  seek  to  know,  Sir  Ghino.  Already  you  know 
enough  to  make  you  despise  your  race ;  I  should  make 
you  hate  it,  which  would  be  too  great  an  injury,  both  to 
you  and  to  it.  Let  me  pass." 

"  You  are  sick  in  soul,  my  friend ;  and  if  pity  does  not 
let  us  abandon  one  whose  body  is  diseased,  much  less 
can  we  desert  one  sick  at  heart,  whose  pains  are  much 
more  severe  and  terrible." 

"  Ghino,  Ghino,  step  aside,  or  I  will  ride  over  you, 
happen  what  may." 

"  Eternal  God  ! "  cried  Ghino,  drawing  back,  and  lift- 
ing his  hands  to  heaven,  "Thou  hast  deprived  him  of 
his  senses ! " 

"  Friend,"  exclaimed  Rogiero,  as  he  passed  him,  "  if 
it  is  true,  though  I  do  not  believe  it,  that  one  man  can 
love  another,  we  should  find  another  word  to  express  that 
love,  since  friendship  means  everything  that  hate,  rage, 
and  deceit  can  commit  against  the  human  race.  Hence- 
forward, when  any  one  wishes  to  call  me  friend,  I  will  stand 
against  a  wall,  to  protect  myself  from  a  blow  from  behind, 
and  will  hold  my  purse,  that  I  may  not  be  robbed  in  an 
embrace."  And  he  added  many  similar  sentences  as  he 
rode  along,  but  the  wind  bore  them  away. 

Rogiero  rode  forward,  agitated  by  the  fever  of  sad 
thoughts ;  but  all  human  troubles  must  find  an  end,  abat- 
ing if  they  are  such  as  the  strength  can  endure,  or  de- 
stroying the  mind  if  they  gain  the  mastery.  Rogiero's  not 
being  strong  enough  to  destroy  it,  the  courtesy  which  was 
a  marked  feature  in  his  character  began  to  make  itself 
felt,  and  reproved  him  for  his  churlishness  to  Ghino,  the 
only  man  whom  he  had  deemed  worthy  of  respect  and 


232  The  Demoniac. 

honor.  He  turned  his  head,  as  if  to  make  his  apologies 
towards  the  place  where  he  had  parted  from  that  brave 
man,  thinking  that  his  horse  must  have  borne  him  out  of 
sight  of  his  dwelling,  but  he  was  mistaken  ;  the  steed,  left 
to  his  own  will,  had  gone  on  very  slowly,  and  he  could 
easily  see  the  good  Sir  Ghino  standing  looking  after  him, 
just  where  he  had  left  him.  Drawing  the  right  bridle,  he 
touched  his  horse  with  the  left  spur,  and  before  one  could 
say  "  Ave  Maria,"  was  beside  Ghino,  dismounted,  and  em- 
braced him  passionately.  His  head,  as  if  weighed  down 
by  his  agitation,  fell  upon  Ghino's  shoulders  ;  his  face  was 
pale,  his  eyes  dry,  his  tongue  powerless.  Ghino  sup- 
ported him,  apparently  unmoved,  except  for  a  large  tear, 
that,  rolling  slowly  down  his  cheek,  rested  upon  Rogiero's 
hair.  Others  followed  ;  but  his  countenance,  as  we  have 
said,  remained  unchanged ;  not  a  muscle  moved ;  it 
seemed  as  if  the  eyes  had  nothing  to  do  with  those  tears, 
as  if  they  rose  spontaneously  from  the  heart.  A  poet, 
seeing  them  fall  from  under  those  long  lashes  over  a  dry, 
hard-featured  face,  such  as  Ghino's  was,  would  have 
thought  of  those  verses  of  Homer,  where  he  compares 
the  weeping  of  Agamemnon 

To  a  streamlet  deep, 

Which  darkly  pours,  o'er  rocks  precipitous, 

Its  gloomy  waters.* 

It  would  not  be  well  to  relate  the  emotions  of  our 
heroes  ;  they  cannot  be  described.  They  uttered  not  a 
word,  and  yet  that  mute  embrace  said  more  than  they 
could  have  expressed  in  any  other  manner.  The  one  did 
not  ask,  and  the  other  promised  ;  the  one  accepted,  and 
the  other  did  not  offer  ;  in  short,  these  secret  sympathies 
of  the  purified  nature,  which  the  "  common  herd  "  cannot 
conceive,  are  as  sacred  as  the  mysteries  of  the  sanctuary. 

"Then,"  began  Ghino,  after  a  long  silence,  "is  your 
intention  of  departing  immediately  unchangeable?" 

"It  is." 

"Would  you  like  any  of  rny  men  to  accompany  you  ?  " 

*  Iliad,  Book  IX. 


The  Demoniac.  233 

Rogiero  pressed  his  hand,  and  gave  him  a  grateful 
look  ;  then  replied  :  "  Sir  Ghino,  the  most  endurable 
thing  that  life  now  offers  me  is  solitude." 

"  Be  it  as  you  wish.  I  am  about  to  turn  my  steps  to- 
wards the  kingdom  of  Naples.  I  shall  take  up  my  abode 
on  the  slope  of  the  mountains  of  Arpino,  near  the  banks 
of  the  Garigliano,  in  the  territory  once  occupied  by  the 
valor  of  the  Saracens.  That  territory  I  look  upon 
as  a  paternal  inheritance,  for  it  belonged  to  a  per- 
secuted and  unhappy  race.  There,  Rogiero,  you  know, 
will  live  a  heart  whose  last  sigh  but  one  will  be  for  God, 
its  last  for  you,  and  an  arm  which  will  fight  in  your  de- 
fence so  long  as  it  can  lift  a  sword.  Only  do  not  call  me 
against  Manfred; — I  can  hold  my  right  hand  over  burn- 
ing coals,  but  not  raise  it  against  him  whom  I  have  once 
loved." 

"  However  strange  it  may  seem  to  you,  Sir  Ghino,  know 
that  if  I  ever  call  upon  you  for  aid,  it  will  be  in  favor  of 
King  Manfred.  More  than  this  you  cannot  know,  of  what 
has  happened  ;  it  would  be  too  painful  for  me  to  tell,  or 
for  you  to  hear ;  let  what  I  have  told  you  suffice.  Ghino, 
my  beloved  friend,  farewell."  So  saying,  Rogiero  again 
pressed  his  hand. 

Ghino  replied:  "You  lift  a  weight  from  my  heart.  .  I 
am  sure  now  that  it  will  not  be  through  us  that  the  Bar- 
barians are  not  driven  beyond  the  Alps.  Your  sword,  Ro- 
giero, judging  from  what  I  saw  at  Rome,  can  fully  compen- 
sate for  any  evil  your  tongue  may  have  done.  Farewell. 
Be  sure  not  to  forget, — on  the  hillside  of  Arpino — 

"  Forget !  when  my  soul  can  forget  that  there  has  been 
a  yesterday,  and  that  there  will  be  a  morrow,  then  only 
can  it  forget  you,  Ghino." 

"  Well  and  good  :  then  there  will  I  await  your  sum- 
mons. Meanwhile  we  will  sharpen  our  daggers,  so  that 
if  any  of  the  French  escape,  they  can  tell  those  beyond 
the  mountains  how  Italian  steel  cuts.  Farewell.  Hold, 
Rogiero,  if  it  should  happen  that  you  cannot  conveniently 
come  in  person,  take  this  dagger ;  the  messenger  by 
whom  you  send  it  to  me  will  return  accompanied  by  four 
hundred  troopers,  and  a  friend." 


234  The  Demoniac. 

"  What  can  I  say,  Ghino  ?     Farewell." 

"  Do  not  put  off  sending  for  me  till  you  are  in  extrem- 
ity. Often,  Rogiero,  a  smaller  number  of  men  than  I  lead, 
coming  opportunely,  has  given  the  victory  to  an  army, 
which  thousands,  the  moment  being  lost,  could  not  save. 
Do  not  think  to  spare  me ;  remember  that  in  taking  up 
arms,  I  do  nothing  for  you,  little  for  Manfred,  but  much 
for  myself;  for  above  all  the  highest  pleasures  of  the  loyal 
citizen,  I  place  that  of  righting  for  my  country.  Do  you 
promise;  Rogiero  ?  " 

"  I  promise." 

"  One  more  embrace,  and  farewell ! " 

Ghino  held  his  stirrup.  Rogiero,  when  mounted,  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  him  :  he  lifted  it  to  his  forehead,  say- 
ing :  "  It  does  my  head  as  much  good  as  my  father's  bless- 
ing. Above  all,  take  care  of  your  wounds.  Farewell, 
my  beloved  Rogiero  ;  farewell !  farewell ! " 

The  unfortunate  youth  departed,  looking  back,  and 
from  time  to  time  saluting  his  friend,  who  did  not  stir 
from  his  place  as  long  as  he  could  follow  him  with  his 
eyes.  When  he  had  lost  sight  of  him,  on  account  of  the 
hilly  character  of  the  country,  and  the  turnings  and  wind- 
ings of  the  forest,  he  went  up  into  a  little  tower,  to  wait 
until  he  should  emerge  upon  the  open  plain.  He  watched 
him  thence  until  he  was  lost  in  the  distance  :  then,  bend- 
ing down,  he  leaned  his  elbows  on  the  battlements  of  the 
tower,  and  resting  his  cheek  on  his  hand,  remained  a  long 
time  gazing  on  the  spot  where  Rogiero  had  disappeared. 
What  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  through  his  mind  we 
cannot  tell ;  we  will  say  only,  that  as  he  turned  to  de- 
scend, he  murmured :  "  As  the  joys  of  life  come  so 
seldom,  and  pass  so  quickly,  it  is  my  opinion  that  they 
are  given  us  to  make  us  feel  our  griefs  the  more  keenly." 

Rogiero,  learning  on  the  way  that  the  court  and  the 
principal  barons  were  to  assemble  before  long  at  Bene- 
vento,  where  Manfred  had  ordered  a  general  rendezvous, 
determined  to  turn  his  course  in  that  direction,  instead  of 
to  Naples,  as  he  had  at  first  intended.  On  the  eighth 
day  after  his  parting  from  Ghino,  and  after  a  fatiguing 
journey  over  bad  roads,  rendered  more  painful  by  the  ir- 


The  Demoniac.  235 

ritation  of  his  wounds,  he  came  in  sight  of  Santa  Agata  dei 
Goti.  Whether  he  feared  that  he  should  not  be  able  to 
conceal  himself,  or  whether  he  desired  to  avoid  the  sight 
of  men.  Rogiero  resolved  not  to  enter  the  city,  but  to  stop 
at  the  first  inn  he  came  to,  in  the  country ;  nor  was  it 
long  before  his  eye  was  attracted  by  a  sign  painted  upon 
a  wall.  The  painter,  as  well  as  one  could  tell,  had  in- 
tended to  represent  a  moon  in  the  first  quarter,  when,  as 
Horace  says  in  one  of  his  odes,  and  the  muse  knows  with 
how  pretty  a  conceit,  it  resembles  the  horns  of  a  heifer. 
Some  black  balls  under  the  moon  were  probably  meant  for 
clouds, — at  least,  I  think  so.  Above  this  marvellous  work 
of  art,  the  following  couplet  was  written  «with  a  coal : 

"  Now  dark  and  silent  is  the  night ; 
Come  to  the  Moon  for  cheer  and  light." 

Truly,  said  Rogiero  to  himself,  it  might  be  better,  but 
since  we  cannot  have  everything,  we  must  take  what  we 
can  get.  So  saying,  he  dismounted,  and  having  cared  for 
Allah  as  for  a  friend,  he  entered  the  inn. 

The  landlord  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  —  a 
strange  figure  ;  very  thin  and  tall,  he  lost  something  of 
his  apparent  height  from  a  stoop,  which  also  gave  a  hol- 
lowness  to  his  chest ;  as  thin  as  Pharoah's  lean  kine,  so 
that  one  fond  of  osteology  might  easily  have  counted  his 
bones  ;  a  narrow  forehead,  about  two  inches  high ;  his 
nose  and  chin  like  friends  eager  to  embrace,  endeavored 
to  pass  the  wide  chasm  of  his  livid  lips  ;  his  eyes  were 
red,  his  gestures  like  those  of  a  monkey ;  his  speech  at 
first  slow,  then  remarkably  rapid.  The  first  feeling  which 
his  appearance  excited  was  contempt ;  the  second,  fear. 
He  wanted  only  a  tail  to  be  taken  for  Moloch,  the  demon 
of  avarice. 

"  Welcome,"  said  he,  cap  in  hand,  making  a  very  low 
bow,  the  moment  Rogiero  appeared,  and  scrutinizing 
him  from  head  to  foot,  like  a  custom-house  officer. 
"  Welcome,  ir  Knight.  Alas  !  I  have  never  felt  so 
much  inclined  to  grieve  at  my  poverty  as  now,  that  I 
cannot  as  I  would  wish  do  honor  to  the  knight  who 


236  The  Demoniac. 

favors  me  with  his  presence  ;  nevertheless,  I  hope,  in 
Santo  Menna  the  Hermit,  our  holy  patron  saint,  to  be 
able  to  serve  you  honestly  for  your  money.  You  are  a 
lucky  man  to  come  first  to  the  Moon  ;  if  you  had  gone 
farther,  you  might  have  found  the  Golden  Eagle,  or  the 
White  Bear.  Santo  Menna  !  fine  monsters  they  are,  ogres 
to  fleece  poor  strangers.  And  they  boast  that  their  ducks 
are  fatter  than  mine, — as  if  they  did  not  breathe  the  same 
air ;  and  I  can  tell  you,  Sir  Knight,  that  they  have  given 
the  unfortunates  who  happened  to  stop  there,  more 
chickens  dead  of  the  pip  than  there  are  flowers  in  spring; 
and  one  of  my  women-servants,  who  is  acquainted  with 
those  rascals,  assured  me  the  other  day  that  they  gave 
an  honest  man  a  cat  for  a  hare.  For  my  part,  I  do  not 
know  why  government  does  not  interfere,  merely  for  the 
public  health.  Well,  for  some  time  things  have  been  go- 
ing all  wrong.  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  do  not  know  many 
things  that  you  noblemen  know;  still,  if 'it  were  for  me 
to  command,  I  should  wish — " 

Rogiero,  resigning  himself  to  the  prospect  of  a  poor 
supper,  without  paying  any  more  attention  to  what  the 
landlord  was  saying,  directed  his  steps  towards  a  room 
whence  issued  the  confused  noise  of  several  people 
speaking  all  together.  Standing  upon  the  threshold,  he 
perceived  four  men,  who  wore  morions,  dented  and  rusty, 
and  iron  corselets ;  they  had  placed  their  halberds  and 
daggers  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  were  seated  on  one 
side  of  a  table,  drinking  and  talking.  These  men,  who 
belonged  to  some  company  of  armed  vassals,  such  as 
every  baron  took  pride  in  keeping  about  him,  rose  at 
Rogiero' s  appearance,  and  saluted  him  very  respectfully, 
as  from  old  habit  they  were  accustomed  to  do,  to  all 
whose  armor  was  ornamented  with  gold  or  silver.  Ro- 
giero thanked  them  by  a  gesture,  and  signed  them  to  be 
reseated ;  but  his  attention  was  not  attracted  by  them  so 
much  as  by  a  fifth  person,  who,  the  moment  he  saw  Ro- 
giero enter,  hastily  pushing  away  from  him  a  large  dish  of 
delicious  viands,  began  to  eat  instead  a  handful  of  dried 
olives,  and  concealed  his  face  as  much  as  possible  in  his 
cowl,  for  he  wore  a  pilgrim's  dress.  With  all  his  efforts, 


The  Demoniac.  237 

he  did  not  succeed  in  escaping  Rogiero's  notice,  who, 
recognizing  him,  experienced  a  sensation  of  dread,  such 
as  one  would  feel  in  listening  to  a  terrible  tale.  Ashamed 
of  turning  pale  at  the  sight  of  a  man  whom  he  considered 
so  base, 'he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said  with  a  sigh: 
"  You  here,  pilgrim  ?  " 

The  sound  of  his  own  voice  broke  the  spell.  He  re- 
covered his  vigor  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  glancing  at 
the  four  ruffians,  he  said,  smiling  scornfully  :  "  Hence- 
forward, it  seems  that  you  will  not  need  my  company." 

"  Ah  !  he  who  seeks,  finds,  Sir  Knight,"  replied  the 
pilgrim.  "  The  snow  falls  where  the  wind  blows  it,  and 
from  a  better  head  than  mine  comes  the  saying  :  '  With 
saints  in  the  church,  in  the  tavern  with  gluttons.'  " 

"And  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
are  more  fitted  for  the  company  of  the  latter  than  the 
former  ;  and  I  can  prove  by  day  what  I  said  to  you 
by  night  when  I  first  met  you.  I  do  not  know  why  you 
try  to  deceive  me,  but  certainly  your  eating,  or  abstain- 
ing in  my  presence  from  food  that  you  were  enjoying, 
will  not  aid  you  in  your  attempt.  Continue  your  repast, 
for  whether  I  saw  game  or  olives  upon  the  table,  I  should 
not  change  my  opinion  of  you ;  the  face  tells  the  story." 

"  Oh  !  if  you  saw  me,  I  will  go  on  eating ;  a  sin  con- 
cealed is  half  pardoned ;  but  this  time  they  will  charge 
me  the  entire  debt."  So  saying,  the  pilgrim  took  some 
great  mouthfuls.  "  The  worst  of  it,  in  my  opinion,  is  the 
scandal :  I  might  almost  say  that  without  scandal  there 
would  be  no  crime.  When  men  do  not  see,  God  also 
shuts  His  eyes,  and  permits — " 

"  Wretch  !  If  the  voice  of  your  conscience  makes  you 
safe,  do  you  think  that  that  of  others  would  trouble  you  ? 
The  cedar  of  Lebanon  bends  before  the  fury  of  the  blast, 
but  does  not  break." 

"  Indeed,  Sir  Knight,  as  it  is  impossible — to  continue 
to  speak  in  figures — that  a  butler,  hurrying  with  a 
goblet  filled  to  the  brim,  should  not  spill  a  few  drops,  so 
it  is  likewise  impossible  that  a  man  should  keep  his  soul 
white  to  the  grave.  Now,  as  you  would  not  blame  the  but- 
ler for  concealing  the  deficiency  of  the  cup,  so  also  you 


238  The  Demoniac. 

would  not  condemn  a  man  for  hiding  the  black  spots  on  his 
soul  under  the  part  which  is  still  white. 

"  '  With  artful  tricks,  and  sly  deceit, 
A  man  can  live  six  months  complete  ; 
With  sly  deceit,  and  artful  tricks, 
He  well  can  live  the  other  six,' 

as  the  poet  says." 

Just  then  the  landlord  entered,  bringing  the  food  that 
Rogiero  had  ordered.  I  will  not  say  of  what  it  consisted, 
nor  how  it  was  prepared,  for  I  am  completely  ignorant  of 
culinary  matters.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  Apicius 
might  have  slept  a  thousand  years  on  one  side,  for  I  cer- 
tainly would  not  waken  him.  to  make  him  lie  on  the  other. 
In  this,  as  in  everything  else,  we  must  yield  the  palm  to 
the  author  of  Waverley.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
Rogiero' s  forebodings  were  realized,  and  that  he  had  never 
in  his  life  made  a  repast  less  to  his  taste,  or  more  highly 
lauded. 

"  I  do  not  say  it  for  a  boast,  for  pride  is  too  black  a 
sin,"  said  the  landlord,  "  but  go  to  the  Golden  Eagle,  if 
you  wish  to  taste  miserable  fare.  Go  to  the  White  Bear. 
Santo  Menna !  there  indeed  one  can  say  that  the  bread 
is  like  rocks.  Wine  ?  Oh  !  I  assure  you,  that  I  can 
give  you  wine  equal  to  what  King  Manfred  drinks. 
Filippellodi  P"aggiano,  a  kinsman  of  mine,  who  has  served 
many  years  at  court,  assured  me  one  day  that  in  his 
opinion  they  were  of  the  same  brand.  Nor  in  my  house 
are  you  charged,  as  at  others,  fourtari  a  measure  ;  for  let 
us  remain  poor,  but  in  the  holy  fear  of  "God.  I  buy  it  at 
three  tari  and  a  half,  and  sell  it  at  three  and  three 
quarters.  I  shall  gain  but  little  in  this  world,  but  pa- 
tience !  I  shall  save  my  soul  in  the  next,  for  in  this  we  are 
but  pilgrims,  as  Friar  Giocondo  says,  but  in  the  next  we 
are  to  live  more  than  a  million  years.  I  have  been  told, 
Sir  Knight,  that  the  punishment  of  landlords  in  a  future 
state  will  be  to  be  sunk  in  the  water  that  they  have 
mixed  with  their  wine ;  think  how  many  fathoms  deep 
the  host  of  the  Golden  Eagle  will  lie  !  Truly  I  pity  him, 
for  he  has  a  family ;  but  as  to  him  of  the  VVhite  Bear,  I 


The  Demoniac.  239 

believe  that  if  he  were  permitted  to  try  to  rise  to  the  sur- 
face, it  would  take  him  all  eternity  to  reach  it !  " 

The  landlord,  while  thus  running  on,  had  unfolded  a 
wretched  little  table-cloth,  and  was  spreading  it  on  the 
table.**  Our  pilgrim  observing  it,  turned  to  Rogiero,  say- 
ing :  "  Sir  Knight,  may  God  preserve  you,  if  you  would 
like  my  company,  I  will  not  be  so  uncourteous  to  you  as 
you  were  to  me.  Come,  I  will  move  up,  and  make  room 
for  you  to  sit  down." 

"  If,"  replied  Rogiero,  looking  angrily  at  him,  "  if  you 
had  the  place  of  a  dog  at  a  table,  and  I  were  to  sit  in  the 
chair  of  the  baron  who  threw  him  the  bones,  I  would 
scorn  the  seat." 

"  That  is  a  brave  man,  sir,"  said  the  landlord,  pretend- 
ing to  take  Rogiero' s  part.  "  That  is  what  we  call  giving 
three  loaves  for  two,  and  better  wine  for  good.  You  have 
found  your  match,  pilgrim,  and  so  it  always  happens  to 
those  who  seek  for  more  than  they  can  get." 

"  Have  I  offended  him,  by  making  room  for  him  at  my 
table  ?  "  replied  the  pilgrim.  "  We  have  received  from 
very  old  times  the  example  of  the  dog  which  bit  the  hand 
that  fed  him ;  nevertheless,  what  does  our  Master  teach  ? 
'  If  any  man  take  away  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy  cloak 
also  ; '  and  '  Whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on  thy  right 
cheek,  turn  to  him  the  other  also.'  So  I  pardon  you." 

"  Indeed  !  Show  me  what  else  you  could  do,  and  I 
will  thank  you  for  your  pardon." 

"  Often  ! "  declared  the  pilgrim,  fixing  upon  Rogiero 
eyes  as  malignant  as  those  of  a  viper,  "often  has  a  spark 
burnt  castles  and  abbeys ;  often  has  a  worm  destroyed  the 
loftiest  oak  upon  the  mountain." 

"  Be  silent,  if  you  wish  me  to  consider  you  honest;  if 
there  were  a  shadow  of  virtue  in  you,  you  would  boast 
less  of  yourself." 

"  That  is  not  good  reasoning ;  praise  in  one's  own 
mouth  may  be  a  fault,  but  does  not  exclude  the  quality 
praised." 

"  I  swear  that  if  you  had  the  power  of  the  sparks,  you 
would  burn  ;  you  are  a  crushed  reptile." 

"  I  am  a  man  who  is  often  hindered  from  doing  good 


240  The  Demoniac. 

when  he  wishes,  but  who  can  do  evil  even  when  he  does 
not  wish  to?" 

"  The  night  when,  unable  to  see  your  face,  I  knew  you 
to  be  a  villain  from  the  sound  of  your  voice,  my  judgment 
did  not  deceive  me,  although  I  did  not  know  then,  nor  do 
I  now,  of  what  sins  you  are  guilty.  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  are  wickedly  foolish,  or  wickedly  wise,  wicked 
by  art  or  by  nature  ;  you  appear  to  me  like  a  murderous 
face,  half  concealed  by  a  cloak,  like  a  spectre  more  than 
half  lost  in  the  darkness  ;  every  look  of  yours  brings 
trouble,  every  word  pierces  the  heart.  If  it  is  true  that 
there  are  serpents  whose  breath  has  power  to  paralyze  the 
feelings,  you  are  certainly  one  in  form  of  a  man." 

"  Sir  Knight,  although  the  excitement  of  your  blood 
caused  by  an  imagined  misfortune  rendered  you  once 
quick  to  insult,  and  me  patient  to  suffer,  I  warn  you  that 
it  will  not  always  be  in  your  power  to  injure,  though  in 
me  the  virtue  of  endurance  remains  unimpaired.  There 
is  an  eye  which  sees  the  wrongs  of  the  weak,  and  a  hand 
which  avenges  them." 

"  Would  that  I  could  see  it !  " 

"Could  you  bear  the  sight?  It  lives,  although  con- 
cealed. The  thunderbolt  descends  from  a  hidden  hand." 

The  voice  in  which  the  pilgrim  uttered  these  last  words 
was  so  different  from  that  in  which  he  had  hitherto  spoken, 
that  Rogiero  sank  down  almost  senseless,  with  his  head 
upon  the  table.  At  the  same  moment  the  pilgrim  beck- 
oned to  two  of  his  companions,  who  rose  and  quickly 
placed  themselves  by  Rogiero' s  table.  The  landlord, 
seeing  these  ominous  looking  preparations,  crept  softly 
towards  the  door.  No  one  breathed  :  for  full  ten  minutes 
all  was  still.  At  last  Rogiero  murmured  in  a  low  voice  : 
"  It  is  he, — the  fatal  man, — the  instrument  of  destiny. 
Did  not  my  soul  recognize  his  voice  with  the  same  horror  ? 
Did  not  my  blood  freeze,  my  pulses  stand  still  ?  "  Then 
in  a  louder  voice  :  "  It  is  he  himself!  "  Uttering  these 
words,  he  clenched  his  hands,  stretched  forth  his  arms, 
every  muscle  of  his  face  rigid,  as  if  he  had  collected  all 
his  powers  not  to  succumb  to  the  stroke,  and  repeated 
them  over  and  over  again.  "  Were  he  an  incarnate  fiend, 


The  Demoniac.  241 

we  should  sink  together  into  the  eternal  fores,  for  I  would 
fasten  myself  upon  him,  nor  leave  him  until  he  had  given 
me  his  reason  for  so  cruelly  persecuting  and  deceiving 
me.  Villain  !  I  never  harmed  him,  had  never  even  seen 
him,  and  he  has  wished  to  madden  me,— has  poisoned 
my  life.  But  the  fool  has  left  me  enough  to  give  him 
death, — and  if  he  is  mortal,  he  shall  receive  it  now." 

With  a  sudden  movement  he  upset  the  table,  and  meat, 
drink  and  crockery  fell  in  ruins  to  the  floor.  He  rose, 
his  looks  terrible,  his  face  flaming  with  anger,  his  gesture 
threatening.  Woe  to  the  pilgrim  if  Rogiero  had  reached 
him,  for  he  would  have  had  no  need  of  a  doctor  to  de- 
spatch him  to  the  other  world  !  The  two  ruffians  who 
road  placed  themselves  beside  the  knight  caught  him  by 
the  arms,  saying:  "Whither,  Sir  Knight?" 

"  With  you  I  have  nothing  to  do  ;  off, — leave  me, — 
for  I  must  exchange  some  words  with  that  fiend  yonder." 

"You  can  say  all  you  want  at  this  distance,  as  well  as 
if  you  were  nearer :  you  do  not  seem  to  have  lost  your 
tongue." 

"  No,  no,  I  must  be  near  him  :  off,  I  tell  you ; "  and 
he  tried  to  shake  himself  free.  "  Unhand  me,  I  com- 
mand you,  I  pray  you." 

"  Do  not  come  near,  Sir  Knight,  or  I  will  do  you  an 
injury  ;  do  you  not  know  that  the  devil  scorches?  Ah  ! 
Puccio,  hold  him  fast,  I  say,  and  you,  Giannozzo — 

"Do  so,  if  you  can  :' but  you  must  tell  me  why  you 
have,  for  months,  incited  me  to  avenge  a  man  who  was 
not-  my  father.  Tell  me,  tell  me,  why  have  you  urged 
me  on  to  crime  ?  " 

Rogiero,  in  an  access  of  fury,  gathered  his  strength 
and  strained  every  nerve  to  get  free  from  the  ruffians,  and 
throw  himself  upon  the  pilgrim,  but  their  hold  was  too 
firm  to  be  easily  shaken  off.  Still  with  the  sudden  strength 
he  exerted,  he  drew  them  across  the  room  with  him. 
The  pilgrim,  quickly  losing  his  boasted  courage,  gave  a 
push  to  the  table,  and  turned  to  fly.  The  table  fell,  as 
Rogiero's  had  done,  and  everything  on  it  also  fell  topsy- 
turvy. Perhaps  the  vehemence  of  fear  was  as  violent  as 
that  of  rage  :  perhaps  they  were  placed  insecurely  on 
11 


242  The  Demoniac. 

purpose,  that  the  least  push  might  upset  them,  and  the 
landlord  have  a  chance  to  charge  double  for  all  that  had 
been  upon  them. 

"  A  fine  way  truly  to  obtain  the  grace  of  our  baron,  you 
rascals  ! "  howled  the  pilgrim,  running  round  the  room  ; 
"hold  him,  villains  that  you  are;  do  you  not  see  that  if 
he  gets  clear  from  you,  he  will  strangle  us  all  ? " 

"  What  destruction  ! "  cried  the  landlord,  on  the  other 
hand.  "  What  destruction  !  Mother  of  Sorrows  !  My 
poor  plates,  which  I  bought  bright  and  new  at  the  fair  of 
Piscitella  !  You  have  spoiled  the  set,  sirs  ;  who  will  pay 
for  them?  Eh?  he  who  breaks  must  pay, — who  will 
pay?" 

"  Do  you  use  violence  towards  me  ?  "  cried  Rogiero, 
in  his  turn.  "  What  is  this  ?  Ah  !  if  I  could  reach  my 
sword. — Wretches  ! — Treachery  !  Treachery  !  " 

"  Go,"  ordered  one  of  the  ruffians  to  the  landlord,  "go 
and  get  all  the  ropes  you  have  in  the  kitchen — " 

"  But  this  has  nothing  to  do  .  .  ." 

"  What  !  Do  you  think  we  have  done  an  agostards 
worth  of  damage  ?  If  we  burnt  the  house  down  with  you 
and  your  family  in  it,  the*  loss  would  not  amount  to  so 
much." 

"My  prophecies  have  come  true,"  said  the  other 
ruffian  ;  "  if  you  had  followed  my  advice  at  first,  and  ac- 
customed him  to  a  broken  head  for  payment,  he  would 
not  be  so  troublesome  now.  Go,  this  moment,  you  rascal, 
and  get  the  ropes." 

"  But  consider — see — " 

"  If  you  say  another  word,"  said  the  ruffian,  shaking 
his  fist,  "  I  swear  by  the  soul  of  my  father,  that  in  a  very 
short  time  you  will  cease  answering  questions  in  this 
world." 

The  landlord,  looking  very  dissatisfied,  immediately 
departed.  Meanwhile  Rogiero  exerted  himself  to  the  ut- 
most to  break  from  their  hold.  He  fought  with  hands, 
feet  and  teeth ;  those  who  received  his  blows  felt  them 
for  days  after.  He  uttered  fierce  exclamations  :  often, 
when  thrown  to  the  ground,  with  the  weight  of  a  man  upon 
him,  with  extraordinary  strength  and  agility,  he  got  him 


The  Demoniac.  243 

under,  and  rose,  trampling  upon  him.  The  noise  and 
hubbub  might  have  been  heard  half  a  mile  off.  At  that 
moment  the  landlord  returned,  with  a  scared  look,  holding 
the  ropes  in  his  hand,  crying  :  "There  are  people  coining 
this  way ! " 

One  of  the  ruffians  put  his  head  out  of  the  window,  and 
drew  it  back  again,  with  an  angry  oath. 

The  noise  was  heard  gradually  approaching,  and  the 
landlord  began  to  cry  in  a  loud  voice :  "  Leave  this 
knight  !  He  is  in  my  house,  where  he  ought  to  be  as  safe 
as  in  church  ;  if  he  has  injured  you,  wait  outside  until  he 
departs.  What  a  shame, — so  many  against  one  !  What 
treachery  !  What  murder ! — I  protest — " 

The  ruffians  laughed  in  his  face.  The  pilgrim,  who  un- 
derstood his  artifice,  said  to  him  :  "  Listen,  Pierone,  do 
you  think  that  you  have  committed  no  other  sins  that 
will  bring  you  to  the  gallows,  if  you  conceal  this  one  ? 
You  have  already  received  one  agostaro,  to  help  us  cap- 
ture this  knight,  if  he  were  taken  in  your  house.  Here 
is  another.  By  the  freedom  with  which  I  throw  away 
money,  you  can  perceive  that  I  do  not  spend  my  own. 
He  who  commanded  me  to  take  him  has  power  to  hang 
you  even  for  giving  a  drink  to  a  thirsty  man.  Do  you 
understand?  You  had  better,  if  you  don't  want  a  coffin 
in  here  before  long." 

A  crowd  of  people,  highly  excited,  came  pouring  into 
the  room  ;  they  were  vassals  of  the  neighborhood,  at- 
tracted by  the  tumult.  They  asked  what  had  happened, 
what  was  the  matter,  and  some  tried  to  liberate  Rogiero. 
If  he  had  kept  silent,  they  would  certainly  have  taken 
him  out  of  the  hands  of  those  ruffians,  but  seeing  the  pil- 
grim attempt  to  hide  himself  in  the  crowd,  he  could  not 
help  crying,  pointing  him  out :  "  Seize  that  serpent,  that 
demon  ;  for  months  and  months  he  has  been  persecuting 
me  ! " 

All  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  pilgrim.  He,  per- 
ceiving that  he  could  not  conceal  himself,  stepped  boldly 
forward,  and  turning  towards  the  oldest  in  the  room, 
prayed  with  clasped  hands  and  eyes  upturned  and  wet 
with  tears  :  "  Oh  Lord,  merciful  and  wise  art  Thou  in 


244  The  Demoniac. 

all  Thy  works,  and  thus  this  Thy  present  dispensation 
must  be  good,  though  it  appears  to  us  under  the  form  of 
evil  ;  yet  may  the  prayers  of  these  Thy  faithful  servants, 
and  of  me  a  sinner,  prevail  with  Thee  to  liberate  this 
poor,  baptized  flesh  " — and  he  pointed  to  the  knight — 
"from  such  tribulation.  See  how  the  enemy  of  mankind 
afflicts  him ;  see  how  the  fallen  angel  exults  in  his  vic- 
tory— " 

"Ah,  traitor!"  shouted  Rogiero,  "let  me  but  reach 
you,  and  you  will  see  which  of  us  is  possessed  with  a 
devil ! " 

.  "  Ah  !  see,  brothers,"  said  the  pilgrim,  without  heeding 
him,  "  see  to  what  sin  brings  us.  Learn  wisdom  from  the 
example  of  others ;  come  to  the  sacraments,  fast,  watch, 
for  the  tempter  is  always  on  the  lookout — " 

"  Is  he  possessed  ?  "  cried  the  assembled  crowd,  greatly 
frightened. 

"  Villains  !  Fools  !  "  exclaimed  the  maddened  Rogiero, 
and  sprang  forward,  grinding  his  teeth. 

"  Hold  him  fast,  brothers,  but  tenderly ;  for  although 
possessed,  he  is  still  a  fellow-being.  Hold  him — bind  him 
— for  the  love  of  God ;  see,  brothers,  the  malice  of  the 
devil,  which  excites  him  against  me,  because  I  am  a 
priest.  Unhappy  he,  if  he  should  strike  me !  He 
would  incur  excommunication.  The  canon  speaks 
clearly  :  Si  quis  suadente  Diabulo  Jmjus  sacrilcgii  re- 
atum  incurrerit,  quod  clericum,  vel  monachum,  etc" 

The  people,  who  had  entered,  looking  as  fierce  as  if  they 
were  going  to  take  a  castle  by  storm,  dared  not  now 
come  near ;  they  crossed  themselves,  and  muttered  pray- 
ers. Most  of  them  thought  it  best  not  to  go  away,  but 
some  went  softly  out  of  the  door,  and  returned  home. 
The  old  men  prayed  ;  the  old  women,  incapable  of  feel- 
ing pity,  took  occasion,  from  the  demoniac  they  believed 
themselves  looking  upon,  to  mention  all  they  had  ever 
seen  within  the  limits  of  the  parish.  The  young  men 
looked,  now  at  their  fathers,  now  at  Rogiero,  who,  it 
appeared  to  them,  had  reason  enough  to  be  furious,  when 
he  was  so  cruelly  bound ;  yet,  fearful  of  doing  wrong, 
they  were  silent,  wondering  at  the  gravity  of  the  paternal 


The  Demoniac.  245 

faces.  The  young  girls,  whether  from  a  kindly  feeling  that 
vanishes  as  years  increase,  or  as  I  believe  from  weakness, 
came  nearer  to  him  than  any  of  the  'others,  saying, 
"  Poor  -young  man  !  What  a  pity  !  How  handsome  he 
would  be  !  Oh  !  if  he  could  recover  his  health,  I  would 
give  the  cap  which  my  uncle  the  priest  brought  me  from 
the  fair!"— "And  I  my  best  veil!"— "Oh,  but  the 
mercy  of  God  is  not  obtained  by  caps  and  veils,"  said  a 
sweet-voiced  young  girl,  with  the  face  of  an  angel. 
"  Let  us  pray  to  Him  from  our  hearts,  and  perhaps  He 
will  hear  us ;  He  is  so  good,  mamma  says,  and  we  will 
pray  for  a  good  thing,  so  He  will  listen."  And  the  other 
girls,  following  her  advice,  joined  her  in  fervent  prayer 
for  the  unhappy  man.  Rogiero  looked  at  them.  Beauti- 
ful they  were  by  nature,  more  beautiful  did  they  appear  in 
that  attitude  of  prayer.  He  was  naturally  susceptible  to 
such  influences  ;  he  sighed  and  appeared  to  feel  soothed 
and  comforted.  For  some  moments  he  saw  only  through 
the  tears  that  filled  his  eyes.  He  was  about  to  speak  more 
calmly  than  he  had  hitherto  done,  and  those  who  held 
him  would  have  gladly  let  him  go,  on  condition  of  their 
own  safety,  when  the  pilgrim,  perceiving  the  danger, 
began  to  harangue:  "Do  not  be  deceived  by  this  ap- 
parent calmness,  my  brethren.  Landlord,  bring  me  the 
holy  water ;  notice,  sirs,  the  great,  cunning  of  the  infernal 
spirit,  which  pretends  to  retreat  when  about  to  be  con- 
quered ;  see  how  it  writhes  when  sprinkled  with  holy 
water  !  "  and  taking  the  water,  he  threw  it  in  Rogiero's 
face.  "  Ne  reminiscaris,  Domine,  delicta  nostra,  negue 
vindictam  sumas  de  peccatis  nostris.  Say  the  Pater  Nos- 
ter." 

"  Kill  him  !  "  cried  Rogiero,  almost  beside  himself; 
"  kill  that  assassin  of  the  innocent — 

"  Et  ne  nos  inducas  in  tentationem. 

"  Sed  libera  nos  a  malo. 

"  Amen.     Oremus — "  repeated  the  pilgrim. 

"  Ah  !  This  is  too  much  !  "  cried  Rogiero  furiously, 
endeavoring  to  escape  from  the  hands  of  those  execu- 
tioners, and  to  kill  or  be  killed.  His  state  is  easier  to 
imagine  than  to  describe.  Some  idea  can  be  formed  of 


246  The  Demoniac. 

it  from  the  fact  that  many  who  passed  for  brave  men  fled, 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  At  last  he  had  exhausted 
every  effort  that  fury  can  suggest  to  the  desperate  ;  and 
the  pretended  pilgrim,  with  impious  sacrilege,  had  pro- 
nounced many  holy  exorcisms,  but  the  devil  did  not  come 
out  of  him,  for  there  was  no  devil  there.  The  ruffians 
glanced  from  time  to  time  towards  the  door,  to  see  if  the 
crowd  was  dispersing,  that  they  might  make  their  escape  ; 
it  was  diminished,  but  a  formidable  number  still  remained. 
In  this  perplexity  the  landlord  thus  addressed  the  pilgrim  : 
"  Holy  pilgrim,  you,  as  priest,  know  better  than  1  that 
sanctity  of  life  is  not  sufficient  to  exorcise  devils,  but 
that  the  gift  of  grace  is  also  required.  You,  perhaps,  have 
received  the  power  of  driving  out  the  lesser  demons,  but 
this  one  is  too  mighty  for  you." 

The  pilgrim  bit  his  lip  with  vexation  at  not  having 
thought  first  of  this  expedient ;  still  he  determined  to  take 
advantage  of  it,  and  with  downcast  face  replied  :  "  Be- 
hold, the  dust  has  forgotten  its  baseness,  and  God  has 
punished  its  presumption.  And  what  a  miserable  sinner 
am  I,  to  wish  to  perform  miracles  granted  only  to  the 
saints  of  the  Lord,  and  to  omit  the  sacred  rites,  the 
stole,  and  other  ceremonials  necessary  to  the  office  of  the 
exorcist !  Brethren,  greater  grace  than  mine  is  necessary 
to  relieve  this  afflicted  one.  My  advice  is  to  take  him  to 
some  place  where  he  can  receive  the  application  of  holy 
relics  and  the  Agnus  Dei" 

At  these  words  of  the  perfidious  pilgrim,  the  whole 
crowd  began  to  shout :  "  Let  us  take  him  to  Sant'  Agata  ! 
to  Sant'  Agata  ! "  repeated  all ;  though  we  do  not  say 
that  the  ruffians  joined  very  heartily  in  the  cry,  for  each 
of  them  seemed  to  feel  the  tightening  of  the  halter  round 
his  throat.  They  lifted  up  the  senseless  form  of  the  un- 
happy youth,  and  exclaiming,  "  Room  for  the  demoniac  ! 
for  charity's  sake,  men,  room  !"  and  enforcing  their  cries 
with  vigorous  thrusts,  they  succeeded  in  passing  the  door. 
The  landlord  had  quietly  approached  the  corner  where 
Rogiero  had  laid  his  arms  and  the  more  cumbrous  parts 
of  his  armor,  and  whilst  with  his  lips  he  muttered  the 
word  "  charity,"  his  brain  was  busy  with  the  thought :  If 


The  Demoniac.  247 

those  rascals  do  not  remember  this  armor,  I  by  selling  it 
could  more  than  make  up  for  my  loss  ;  so  true  it  is  that 
one  man's  loss  is  another  man's  gain.  One  of  the  ruffians, 
just  as  he  was  leaving  the  room,  turned  and  froze  the 
course  of  the  argument  in  the  landlord's  mind  ;  probably, 
it"  the  crowd  had  not  just  then  closed  around  him,  he 
would  have  returned  for  the  armor.  The  landlord  saw 
him  cross  the  threshold  with  the  joy  of  a  reprieved  crimi- 
nal ;  he  extended  those  eager  hands,  the  mere  appear- 
ance of  which  gave  the  idea  of  rapine,  and,  trembling  with 
the  certainty  of  success,  seized  the  armor,  and  with  side- 
long steps,  and  watchful  look,  like  a  cat  who  had  stolen 
a  fish  from  the  kitchen,  hastily  crossed  the  room,  and 
went  to  hide  it  in  the  coal-bin. 

The  ruffians,  who  had  a  litter,  born  by  two  stout  horses, 
all  ready  for  the  removal  of  Rogiero,  shut  him  into  it,  and 
mounting  their  own  steeds,  rode  at  first  slowly  along  the 
road  to  Sant'  Agata  dei  Goti. 

They  had  already  come  quite  near  to  the  city,  but  the 
crowd  did  not  diminish,  and  the  pilgrim  did  not  relish  the 
thought  of  entering.  On  the  way,  he  had  been  racking 
his  brains  to  think  of  some  new  expedient,  but  none 
seemed  practicable.  Forced,  however,  to  adopt  some 
measure,  he  called  to  some  of  the  oldest  of  the  throng, 
and  said  to  them,  "  I  am  thinking,  brethren,  of  taking  our 
poor  demoniac  to  Benevento." 

"  Oh  !     Why  so,  holy  pilgrim  ?" 

"  Because  the  image  of  the  Blessed  Mary  of  Peace  is 
worshipped  there,  and  seems  to  be  there  on  purpose  for 
such  miracles." 

"  Pilgrim,  as  far  as  I  know,  you  have  not  yet  visited 
the  shrine  of  Santo  Menna,  and  do  not  know  that  every 
year  the  Brothers  are  obliged  to  remove  the  votive  offer- 
ings, and  hang  them  up  in  the  refectory." 

"  It  may  be  so,  brothers  ;  but  Santo  Menna  is  a  Nor- 
man Saint,  and  Mary  is  a  much  greater  saint  than  he,  and 
is  the  mother  and  spouse  of  the  Lord,  as  you  know." 

"  Certainly,  I  do  not  mean  that  you  do  not  speak  the 
truth,  but  Santo  Menna  has  performed  other  miracles, 
and — " 


248  The  Demoniac. 

"And  you  think  he  might  also  perform  this,  eh  ?  Who 
denies  it  ?  Let  us  leave  the  saints,  and  speak  of  worldly 
matters.  My  brother,  you  know  better  than  I,  that  Sant' 
Agata  is  a  bishopric,  but  Benevento  an  archbishopric. 
Now,  in  the  ecclesiastical  hierarchy,  an  archbishop  is 
much  more  powerful  than  a  bishop.  Now,  suppose  that 
the  former  should  succeed,  and  not  the  latter,  would  not 
your  conscience  smite  you  for  having  thus  turned  from 
Herod  to  Pilate?" 

"You  speak  the  truth;  but  Santo  Menna  has  per- 
formed other  miracles,  and — " 

"  Will  do  more.  Who  denies  it  ?  We  should  not  be 
Christians  if  we  denied  it ;  but  what  says  the  prophet  ? 
'  Onagrus  Silvester,  intelligis  ne,  me  vclle  ducere  ilium  in 
ore  leonis — in  capite  draconis'  " 

The  poor  man,  overwhelmed  by  the  Latin,  did  not 
dare  to  say  another  word  ;  the  ore  leonis,  the  capite  dra- 
conis, had  made  him  shudder  both  inwardly  and  outwardly  ; 
he  slunk  back  into  the  crowd.  The  news  that  they  were 
not  going  to  Sant'  Agata  was  quickly  spread  among  them, 
at  which  the  greater  number  left  the  throng,  and  returned 
whence  they  came.  Gradually,  as  they  advanced  along 
the  road  to  Benevento,  leaving  Sant'  Agata  behind  them, 
others  by  twos  and  threes  began  to  follow  more  slowly, 
then  stopped,  then  turned  towards  home.  The  company 
lengthened  out,  like  the  flax  as  it  becomes  thread  under 
the  old  woman's  fingers.  The  night  was  drawing  on,  and 
the  shadows  becoming  larger  and  deeper,  when  the  ruf- 
fians— perceiving  that  now  only  a  few  young  men  were 
following  them,  who  would  be  gladly  doing  something 
more  agreeable  than  trudging  thus  by  night,  fifteen  miles 
or  more  over  a  mountainous  country,  had  not  their 
sweethearts  begged  them  to  see  the  end  of  the  matter — 
thought  that  they  had-  better  be  entirely  alone,  and  in 
that  intention  immediately  turned  their  horses  and 
spurred  in  among  them,  dealing  heavy  blows  to  the  right 
and  left  with  the  handles  of  their  halberds. 

"  Off  with  you,  vassals  !  off  with  you,  peasants  !  "  they 
shouted  between  the  blows ;  "home;  it  is  growing  late, 


The  Conspiracy.  249 

and  the  way  is  long ;  home,  or  to-morrow  the  dew  will 
fall  upon  your  heads." 

These  peasants,  as  we  said  before,  had  already  more 
than  half  a  mind  to  return,  and  now,  when  such  persua- 
sive arguments  were  added,  judge  whether  they  did  not 
show  their  heels.  He  who  runs,  runs;  but  he  who  flees, 
flies.  So,  all  out  of  breath,  they  reached  their  homes, 
where  they  related  many  things  that  were  true,  very 
many  that  were  false,  and  wished  to  take  arms,  follow  the 
ruffians,  and  take  vengeance  upon  them,  worthy  to  be  re- 
corded upon  marble,  and  to  be  remembered  for  a  thou- 
sand years.  But  an  old  man  rose,  and  observed  that  they 
must  be  tired,  and  that  they  had  only  two  legs  apiece, 
while  the  ruffians  fled  upon  four  ;  that  the  best  thing  that 
they  could  do,  in  his  opinion,  would  be  to  go  to  bed,  and 
rise  the  next  morning  fresh  and  rested,  so  as  to  pursue 
them  to  better  advantage.  The  youths  looked  at  each 
other  without  saying  a  word,  then  went  quietly  off,  to  de- 
posit between  the  sheets  their  words  and  thoughts  of 
blood. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    CONSPIRACY. 

Da  chi  mi  fido  guardami,  Dio  ; 
Da  chi  non  mi  fido  mi  guardar  io. 

Iscrizione  net  Piombi  di  Venezia. 

May  Heaven  protect  me  from  my  trusted  friend  ; 
From  him  I  trust  not,  I'll  myself  defend. 

An  Inscription  in  the  Prisons  of  Venice. 

M.   G.  M. 


will  help  me?"  asked  Rogiero  languidly, 
recovering  from  his  long  insensibility.  "  Who 
will  help  me  ?  " 

No  one  replied  to  the  mournful  question.     The 
unfortunate  youth  lay,  without  energy  to  open  his  eyes,  as 
11* 


250  The  Conspiracy. 

one  who  fears  to  unclose  them  only  upon  new  troubles. 
If  they  had  been  tangible,  external,  he  might  have  risen 
and  wrestled  with  them  in  deadly  strife  ;  but  they  existed, 
torturing  him,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  and  he  had  not 
strength  to  stifle  them  there,  and  his  own  life  with  them. 
Helpless,  he  groaned  under  the  insupportable  weight,  and 
although  his  intellect  shrank  from  analyzing  the  course  of 
past  events,  still  the  agony  they  caused  him  weighed  him 
down.  For  the  third  time,  and  in  a  louder  voice,  he 
repeated:  "  Who  will  help  me  ?"  The  sound  died  away 
without  reaching  any  compassionate  being,  who  would 
break  the  fearful  silence  ;  then  he  slowly  unclosed  his 
eyes  ;  "  darkness  there,  and  nothing  more."  He  stretched 
forth  his  hands  ;  they  moved  in  emptiness. 

"They  might  have  killed  me,  but  my  death  alone  is 
not  enough  for  the  cruel  ones.  Let  agony  of  body  first 
exercise  its  tyranny,  then  the  keener  anguish  of  the  spirit. 
Let  the  agonies  with  which  nature  has  encompassed  me 
be  increased  by  those  which  my  fellow-men  heap  upon 
me,  one  after  another,  and  let  them  triumph.  Let  me 
not  escape  a  single  pang  of  what  I  am  to  suffer  ;  let  every 
stab  have  its  groan,  not  confused  but  distinct ;  every  sting 
its  torture  ;  let  me  feel  the  whole  agony  of  death.  This 
truly  is  of  man  ! " 

He  bowed  his  head,  muttering  fiercely.  After  a  while, 
he  again  moved.  This  time  his  hands  encountered  some 
object.  He  took  it  up  ;  it  was  a  human  bone.  He  pressed 
it  to  his  breast  as  a  friend  ;  he  felt  it  all  over,  with  the  joy 
of  a  mother  stroking  her  firstborn's  hair,  then  dropped 
it,  murmuring  :  "  Yes  !  The  bones  of  one  victim  will  be 
the  tomb  for  the  bones  of  another ! "  then  taking  it  again  : 
"  Perhaps  thou  wert  more  unhappy  than  I,  for  the  only 
thing  granted  without  limit  to  mortals  is  bitterness.  Per- 
haps thou  hadst  a  father,  who  shed  many  tears  for  thee, 
but  not  over  thy  ashes  ;  perhaps  a  mother,  who,  mad  with 
grief,  went  seeking  thee  from  cemetery  to  cemetery,  to 
say  a  prayer  upon  thy  grave,  and  found  it  not.  .  .  ." 

His  thoughts  became,  for  a  time,  too  agonizing  to  find 
vent  in  words.  Suddenly  striking  his  forehead,  he  added  : 
"  And  I  shall  not  have  Yole  ?  If  she  survives  .  .  ." 


The  Conspiracy.  251 

While  lie  was  speaking,  a  tempest  burst  over  the  castle. 
He  clasped  his  hands,  and  raised  them  suppliant  to  heaven  ; 
but,  as  he  bent  in  prayer,  his  knees  struck  upon  the 
breast  of  a  skeleton,  and  the  ribs  broke  under  him  with  a 
crackling  sound,  that  seemed  like  a  wail  of  sorrow.  He 
did  not  change  his  position,  however,  but  still,  influenced 
by  the  event,  began  his  supplication  :  "  Oh,  destroying 
Power,  hear  my  prayer,  the  prayer  which  a  creature  about 
to  be  destroyed  offers  upon  the  altar  of  destruction.  The 
experience  of  ages  teaches  Thee  that  the  earth  is  growing 
old  in  years  and  sin,  and  that  the  heritage  of  crime 
descends  accumulating  from  father  to  son  ;  that  there  is 
now  not  a  sacred  place  where  the  righteous  man  can 
offer  prayer,  not  a  stone  which  has  not  supported  a  vic- 
tim's head,  not  a  clod  which  is  not  sprinkled  with  una- 
venged blood.  The  light  shines  upon  open  slaughter ;  the 
darkness  veils  secret  treachery  ;  we  are  all  destined  to  be, 
in  turn,  betrayers  and  betrayed.  If  the  woman,  who,  by 
her  first  sin,  brought  death  upon  her  head  and  ours, 
could.be  recalled  to  life,  and  from  the  borders  of  the 
tomb  could  behold  the  deeds  of  her  cruel  descendants, 
she  would  shrink  back  in  terror  under  the  stone,  for  a 
second  time  invoking  death.  Formerly  our  ancestors 
assembled  in  wicked  bands,  to  receive  pleasure  from 
"  suffering  nature,"  *  and  applauded  fraternal  homicide  ; 
but  they  were  called  barbarians.  Collect,  then,  Thou  who 
hast  the  power,  all  the  tempests  into  one  ;  let  Thy  fury 
be  poured  out  upon  all  creation  ;  let  the  earth  be  buried 
under  the  fragments  of  worlds  that  overwhelm  it ;  destroy 
man,  and  all  trace  of  him.  The  only  moment  when  we 
can  praise  Thee,  will  be  when  life,  trembling  upon  the 
last  lip,  awaits  but  a  sigh,  to  fly  to  where  the  unborn 

*  Potk  a  1'alte  patrizie, 
Come  alia  plebe  oscura, 
Giocoso  dar  solletico 
La  soffrente  natura. 

PARINI,  Ode  a  Silvia. 

High  and  low  take  wondrous  pleasure, 
Nature's  sufferings  to  measure. 


252  The  Conspiracy. 

lives  dwell ;  *  and  if  Thou  canst  not  endure  Thy  eternity 
alone,  and  if  Thou  rejoicest  in  prayers,  in  incense, 
ah  !  do  not,  I  conjure  Thee,  do  not  create  the  wild  beast 
endowed  with  reason  .  .  ." 

Shall  we  listen  longer1  to  this  afflicted  one  ?  We  have 
already  heard  enough  to  learn  how  his  mind  wandered 
from  the  right  path,  and  how,  tortured  with  overwhelming 
anguish,  his  intellect  dimmed,  he  impiously,  or  rather 
foolishly,  passed  from  supplication  to  curses  of  the  only 
Power  that  could  assist  him. 

Ceasing  his  complaints,  he  laid  himself  down  again 
upon  the  ground,  and  with  the  calmness  of  despair  re- 
mained awaiting  death.  Thus  passed  many  hours,  when 
a  confused  murmur,  striking  his  ear,  caused  him  to  spring 
from  the  ground  and  listen.  It  seemed  just  over  his  head. 
"Perhaps  it  is  only  in  my  imagination,"  exclaimed  he, 
touching  his  forehead  ;  but  his  forehead  was  cool.  Listen- 
ing again  more  eagerly,  he  heard  the  noise  distinctly. 
Trying  ever)'  step,  he  groped  along  with  outstretched 
arms  in  the  direction  of  the  sound ;  and  as  he  advanced 
the  murmur  grew  louder,  and  apparently  of  human 
voices,  although  he  could  not  distinguish  any  words ;  he 
hastened  forward  ;  the  murmur  grew  fainter.  Retracing 
his  steps,  he  tried  to  examine  the  place.  Continuing  his 
search  he  found  that  he  had  passed  under  a  staircase, 
which,  resting  upon  a  half  arch,  reached  from  the  upper 
story  of  the  building  to  the  floor  of  the  prison.  He 
groped  his  way  to  the  foot  of  it  ;  it  was  very  narrow,  and 
without  a  balustrade.  Mounting  cautiously,  and  feeling 
his  way,  he  found  at  the  landing  a  small  bridge,  also 
without  any  balustrade  ;  crossing  which,  he  entered  a  cor- 
ridor which  brought  him  to  a  door  strongly  barricaded. 
He  saw  that  it  was  night,  for  so  much  light  shone  through 
the  chinks  of  the  door,  from  a  wood  fire  within,  that  his 
eyes  accustomed  to  the  darkness  could  not  at  first  bear 
it.  Looking  for  a  good  place  to  see  through,  he  found 


Qureris  quo  jaceas  post  obitum  loco  ? 
Quo  non  nata  jacent. 

SENECA,  Troas,  cJior.,  Act  2. 


The  Conspiracy.  253 

a  wide  crack  between  the  door  and  the  door-post, 
and  perceived  about  forty  people  assembled,  whom,  in 
spite  of  their  being  very  plainly  dressed,  he  immediately 
recognized  as  noblemen  whom  he  was  accustomed  to  see 
at  King  Manfred's  court.  They  were  now  silent,  but 
from  time  to  time  first  one  and  then  another  would  glance 
with  suspicious,  impatient  looks  towards  a  door  opposite 
to  that  through  which  Rogiero  was  looking. 

"  It  is  long  past  the  hour  !"  one  would  say  to  another 
then  ;  "  was  not  nine  o'clock  at  night  the  hour  fixed  for 
the  meeting  ?  " — "  Yes." 

Just  then  steps  were  heard  approaching.  The  knights 
looked  uneasy ;  not  one  remained  seated  ;  with  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  door,  they  panted  with  anxiety  to  see  who 
would  appear  ;  startled  at  the  slight  delay,  many  appeared 
ready  for  flight ;  a  few  drew  their  daggers,  advancing  res- 
olutely, and  these  were  the  most  timid,  although  the 
gesture  might  betoken  the  contrary.  The  door  opened  : 
a  knight,  closely  wrapped  in  his  cloak,  and  with  a  morion 
on  his  head,  entered  the  room.  Perceiving  the  confu- 
sion, the  drawn  daggers,  he  laughed  aloud,  opened  his 
cloak,  showing  himself  covered  from  head  to  foot  with 
heavy  armor,  and  said  :  "  Put  up  your  daggers,  my  lords, 
or  you  will  blunt  their  points." 

"  Oh  !  Is  it  you  ?  "  they  all  exclaimed.  "  Our  mis- 
trust was  not  groundless,  for  we  never  had  to  wait  for  you 
before,  count." 

The  voice  of  the  new-comer  was  not  altogether  un- 
known to  Rogiero,  who,  observing  him  more  attentively 
as  he  came  into  the  firelight,  recognized  the  features  of 
Count  del  la  Cerra. 

"True,"  replied  the  count,  "but  the  man  trusts  us 
more  the  nearer  he  approaches  his  fate,  and  this  new  con- 
fidence can  be  derived  only  from  Providence." 

"  Speak  out  boldly,  count ;   where  is  your  master  ?  " 

"  What  master  ?  " 

"  The  count." 

"  Ah  !  That  is  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  gentle- 
men. The  man  detains  him  to  concert  with  him  upon  the 
defence  of  the  kingdom.  I  come  in  his  stead,  most  noble 


254  The  Conspiracy. 

barons,  to  disclose  to  you  the  state  of  affairs.  Let  that 
suffice  for  the  present :  the  arrangements  for  the  future 
we  cannot  quite  decide  upon  ;  for,  as  you  see,  we  are  not 
so  numerous  as  we  ought  to  be,  and  we  want  him  who  is, 
or  who  calls  himself,  our  head.  Our  friends  convoked 
with  the  remaining  barons  of  the  kingdom  for  the  next 
assembly  will  meet,  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascer- 
tain, between  this  night  and  the  next  day;  but,  gentle- 
men, if  no  one  opposes,  you  will  be  able  to  meet  in  this 
same  place  the  following  night." 

"Unless  illness  prevents,"  replied  the  conspirators, 
"  we  promise  to  be  present." 

"  Now  then,  you  must  know  that  our  letters  have 
reached  Monseigneur  Charles,  and  that  they  pleased  him 
beyond  measure ;  that  the  pope  and  the  count  both  en- 
courage us  in  our  undertaking,  the  former  promising  us 
everv  spiritual  assistance  in  his  power,  though,  to  speak 
the  truth,  that  is  not  much  in  the  present  crisis ;  the  lat- 
ter promises  us  the  support  of  his  armies  and  privileges 
and  franchises,  as  rewards.  Here  are  the  letters  that  a 
secret  messenger  brought  us  from  Rome  yesterday 
night.  If  you  please,  barons,  we  will  leave  the  pope's, 
both  because  they  are  of  slight  importance  and  because 
time  presses,  for  I  cannot,  without  laying  myself  open  to 
suspicion,  absent  myself  long  from  court.  Let  us  read 
those  of  Monseigneur  Charles." 

No  one  could  remain  quiet.  Urged  by  curiosity  all 
gathered  around  the  Count  della  Cerra,  who,  drawing 
some  papers  from  his  breast,  chose  one,  and  unfolding  it, 
read  :  "  Charles,  etc.,  etc.,  to  the  noble  barons  represent- 
ing the  kingdom  of  Naples,  to  them  all  collectively,  and 
to  each  one  separately,  greeting.  We  do  not  know,  O 
noble  knights,  whether  most  to  congratulate  ourselves 
or  you,  the  authority  of  the  Holy  Church,  and  still  more 
our  natural  affection,  inciting  us  to  the  aid  of  all  who 
groan  dejected  under  the  weight  of  impious  tyranny ;  for 
you  know  well  how  to  estimate  your  sad  condition  and 
the  purity  of  our  intentions,  which  instead  of  resisting, 
you  offer  readily  to  second  to  the  extent  of  your  power. 
Nor  let  this  seem  bitter  to  you,  for  you  know  that  ser- 


The  Conspiracy.  255 

vitude  sickens  the  heart,  and  weakens  the  mind  :  for  you 
only,  most  noble  knights,  richly  endowed  by  nature, 
have  been  able,  a  glorious  example,  to  preserve  your- 
selves, in  these  stormy  times,  safe  and  unharmed.  >  If  at 
first,  however,  about  to  undertake  greater  enterprises,  we 
hoped  to  win  greater  gratitude,  now,  since  it  has  pleased 
God  to  grant  our  wishes,  we  shall  obtain  greater  security. 
It  is  always  necessary  to  concede  something  to  the  prac- 
tice of  human  affairs,  and  since  this  decree  is  inevitable, 
we  esteem  ourselves  fortunate  in  being  able  to  yield 
it  out  of  the  glory  we  would  derive,  rather  than  from 
human  blood  and  betrayed  .  .  ." 

"  This  bombast,"  interrupted  an  old  man  whom  Rogiero 
could  not  recognize,  "  does  no  good  either  to  soul  or 
body  ;  it  is  easy  to  see  that  that  letter  comes  from  Rome 
and  smacks  of  Bull's  pen.  Pass  on  to  the  business,  part 
of  it,  if  you  please,  Count  Anselmo ;  pass  on  to  the  con- 
ditions." 

"Just  as  you  please,"  replied  the  Count  della  Cerra ; 
and  skipping  two  or  three  pages  he  continued:  "The 
world  knows  well  whether  the  house  of  France  is  ac- 
customed to  set  a  price  on  the  heads  of  its  vassals, 
whether  it  likes  to  conciliate  or  not  the  respect  of  the 
people,  the  love  of  the  barons,  the  good-will  of  all :  the 
world  knows  if  it  is  covetous  of  the  property  of  others, 
rash,  uneasy  and  cowardly — " 

"  These  are  praises,  Anselmo,  not  conditions,"  inter- 
rupted the  old  man  again. 

Count  Anselmo  glanced  rapidly  over  the  letter,  until 
he  had  nearly  reached  the  end  ;  then  he  said  aloud,  "  Here 
is  what  he  promises  :  Do  not  doubt  but  that  our  grati- 
tude will  be  commensurate  with  the  benefit.  Yours  will 
be  the  principal  offices  of  the  kingdom,  yours  the  magistra- 
cies, yours  the  right  of  approving  the  laws  ;  we  will  merely 
assume  such  authority  as  you  will  be  willing  to  grant  us, 
and  will  consider  ourselves  satisfied.  Let  the  royalties 
be  abolished,  the  right  of  imposing  taxes  taken  from  the 
prerogative  of  the  crown,  that  of  abating  them  preserved. 
But  there  is  no  time  to  enumerate  all  the  salutary  reforms 
that  we  meditate,  in  order  to  restore  happiness  to  your 


256  The  Conspiracy. 

delightful  country ;  they  will  be  such  as  a  most  affection- 
ate father  may  grant,  such  as  most  loving  children  may 
expect." 

"  Alas  !  alas  ! "  exclaimed  the  old  man,  for  the  third 
time,  "  lack,  I  beseech  you,  whether  it  be  not  sent  from 
the  Apostolic  Secretary's  office,  sub  annulo  piscatoris  !  " 

"  Hear  the  end,"  replied  della  Cerra,  with  sudden  an- 
ger, which  he  covered  immediately  with  a  laugh  :  "  Use- 
less, and  perhaps  injurious — injurious — would  it  be  to 
assure  to  you  the  peaceable  possession  of  your  castles, 
estates  and  privileges ;  however,  you  may  not  only  hope, 
but  look  upon  it  as  certain,  that  we  intend  to  bestow  up- 
on you  all  the  grants  and  immunities  by  which  a  son  of 
France  can  demonstrate  his  gratitude  to  the  most  faith- 
ful—" 

"  A  truce  to  the  smooth  phrases,  count,"  said  the  old 
man,  "  and  pay  attention,  I  pray,  to  the  last  sentence  of 
Charles's  letter.  He  betrays  himself  just  at  the  end  ;  in 
spite  of  his  fine  promises,  his  intention  is  certainly  to  de- 
spoil us." 

"  How?"  asked  many. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  clear  enough.  He  affirms  that  he  wishes  to 
bestow  grants  upon  us ;  now  as  to  baronies,  he  does  not 
bring  them  from  Krance  ;  it  is  evident,  then,  that  to  give  to 
some  he  must  take  away  from  others  .  .  ." 

"  Baron,"  interrupted  Anselmo,  "  you  make  out  the  ex- 
pression worse  than  it  is.  Do  you  think  that  he  would 
wish  to  take  more,  just  as  he  is  on  the  point  of  gaining  a 
kingdom  ?  " 

"  A  good  reason  !  and  when  do  you  suppose  that  he 
would  wish  to,  when  he  was  on  the  point  of  losing  one  ?  " 

"  Something,  baron,  must  be  allowed  to  faith,  some- 
thing to  fame,  something  .  .  ." 

"  Nothing.  When  these  locks  "  (and  the  old  man  touch- 
ed his  hair)  "  were  brown,  I  too  thought  as  you  say  ;  but 
you  do  not  say  as  you  think,  although  yours  are  yet 
black." 

"If  gray  hairs  have  taught  you  only  to  calumniate  your 
fellow-men,  it  had  been  better  if  you  had  become  bald 
while  they  were  yet  brown." 


The  Conspiracy.  257 

The  bystanders  laughed  at  the  repartee  ;  the  old  man, 
undisturbed,  waited  till  the  laugh  had  ended,  then  replied  : 
"  They  have  taught  me  to  know  them  ;  they  have  taught 
me  things  which  you  also  know,  but  conceal  because  it 
does  not  suit  you  to  declare  them.  To  cut  the  matter 
short,  what  guarantee  does  Charles  offer  for  the  execu- 
tion of  his  promises  ?  " 

"  Guarantee !  Can  a  man  who  enters  peaceably  a 
kingdom  which  he  might  acquire  by  force  of  arms  give  a 
better  proof  of  his  good  faith  ?  " 

"  Faith  and  reason,  my  Anselmo,  change  with  the  day : 
it  does  not  seem  to  me  prudept  to  put  ourselves  at  his 
mercy.  Let  us  beware  where  we  tread,  for  we  traverse  a 
road  upon  which  we  cannot  retrace  our  steps.  Let  us  be 
cautious  while  we  may,  for  afterwards  it  will  not  only  be 
too  late,  but  foresight, may  expose  us  to  danger,  lamenta- 
tion to  ridicule." 

"  For  my  part,  I  do  not  see' how  we  can  avoid  running 
the  risk.  What  we  suffer  under  the  man  is  certain  ;  what 
Charles  prepares  for  us  is  still  uncertain.  According  to 
the  calculations  of  human  prudence,  it  seems  to  me  that 
it  is  worth  trying." 

"  You  have  evaded  all  my  arguments,  Anselmo,  but  I 
will  not  stop  to  prove  to  you  whether  your  idea  deserves 
praise  or  blame.  I  will  again  bring  forward  these  same 
doubts  day  after  to-morrow,  for  much  as  I  hate  the  man, 
even  more  do  I  abhor  infamy." 

"  When  it  is  without  gain,  perhaps,"  muttered  Count 
Anselmo  in  an  undertone.  The  knight  did  not  hear  him, 
and  continued  :  "  Meanwhile  I  must  weep,  I  know  not 
whether  to  say  at  the  sad  fatality  of  Italy,  or  at  the  base 
spirit  of  her  citizens,  who,  to  free  themselves  from  one 
servitude,  can  devise  no  better  means  than  to  assume  an- 
other, or  to  break  their  fetters  with  the  same  iron  which 
they  use  to  form  new  ones.  When,  when  will  come  the 
day  in  which  we  can  raise  to  the  Creator  arms  free  from 
every  shameful  mark  of  foreign  rule  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  baron,"  replied  the  Count  della  Cerra, 
';  nonsense  ;  let  us  think  of  ruling,  which  has  ever  been 
the  prerogative  of  us  nobles.  But,  now  that  I  think  of  it, 


258  The  Conspiracy. 

it  is  all  very  well  for  you,  baron,  to  love  liberty,  for  by  it 
you  will  gain  an  equal  division  of  property.  Did  not  your 
creditors,  ten  years  ago,  make  you  sell  your  family  fief? 
Courage,  baron  !  Keep  the  prince  your  nephew  favor- 
able to  Monseigneur  de  Provence,  for  he  is  a  king  who 
will  restore  what  the  dice  have  taken  from  you." 

"  How !     Do  you  believe  .  .  .  ?  " 

''•  I  believe  nothing  .  .  ." 

"  Burn  my  soul  .  .  ." 

"  Amen.  The  things  that  you  propound  are  sincere, 
but  the  time  is  unfavorable.  Be  convinced,  baron,  that 
men  wiser  than  you  or  I  have  thought  the  same.  Poor 
fellows!  their  meditations  ended  in  sighs  and  longings; 
their  acts  in  voluntary  exile,  involuntary  death." 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,  count :  think  what  you  please  of  my 
real  sentiments,  but  I  still  hope  to  see  that  day." 

"  When  do  you  hope  it  ?  " 

"  When,  every  private  passion,  every  individual  interest, 
laid  aside,  we  shall  agree  .  .  ." 

"  Then  it  will  never  come  for  us,  for  we  shall  be  de- 
stroyed ;  take  away  self-interest,  and  what  remains  ?  " 

Many  more  arguments  were  added  on  either  side,  which 
we  will  omit  as  irrelevant  to  our  present  purpose.  Finally, 
the  Count  della  Cerra,  rising,  took  his  cloak,  and  prepar- 
ing to  go,  said  to  the  conspirators :  "  There  is  nothing  in 
this  world  so  difficult  that  a  tenacious  will  and  prudent 
labor  cannot  make  it  successful.  Farewell,  barons  :  I 
have  been  already  too  long  away  from  court  to  escape 
suspicion.  1  hope  that  next  time  you  will  not  expect  me 
too  impatiently.  Adieu ;  let  us  separate  with  the  usual 
precautions." 

Cautious  salutations  followed.  The  light  was  extin- 
guished, but  from  the  noise  of  footsteps  dying  away  in  the 
distance,  Rogiero  perceived  that  they  were  departing. 
He  waited  a  little  longer,  to  be  sure  that  there  was  not 
one  left,  and  then  began  to  shake  the  door  with  the  des- 
peration of  a  man  who,  every  other  hope  lost,  rests  his 
safety  upon  the  accomplishment  of  one  last  attempt ;  he 
tried  every  means  in  his  power.  Astonishing,  almost  in- 
credible, were  his  efforts ;  still,  great  as  was  his  active 


The  Conspiracy.  259 

power,  much  greater  was  the  passive  resistance  of  the 
door.  He  succeeded  at  last  in  moving  it  a  little,  but  that 
was  a  very  different  thing  from  forcing  it  open  :  much  as 
he  had  accomplished,  more  than  twice  as  much  remained 
to  be  done,  and  just  then  the  fire  died  entirely  out ;  ex- 
haustion succeeded  to  fury.  Perspiration  poured  from 
his  brow,  blood  from  his  hands  ;  overcome  by  despair  and 
weakness,  he  abandoned  the  attempt.  The  feelings  with 
which  he  turned  away  may  be  imagined.  Passing  through 
the  corridor,  he  crossed  the  bridge,  descended  the  stairs, 
and  sitting  on  the  lowest  step,  gave  himself  up  to  the  rush 
of  thoughts  and  memories  which  almost  overpowered  him. 

How  long  he  remained  in  this  half-unconscious  state, 
we  know  not ;  but  after  some  time,  a  sharp  pain  piercing 
his  eyeballs,  summoned  his  faculties  to  renewed  activity ; 
but  before  he  had  unclosed  his  lids  he  seemed  to  hear 
these  words  :  "  Oh  Heavens  !  what  darkness  !  I  hoped 
.  to  see  him  by  the  glare  of  the  flames.  What  shall  we  do  ? 
Is  not  hell  full  of  flames?" 

"  My  lady,"  replied  another  voice,  "  you  are  not  in  hell, 
and  he  whom  you  seek  is  close  by.  Meanwhile,  I  pray 
you,  do  not  hold  me  so  tightly." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will,  till  I  have  found  him  ;  for  you  prom- 
ised me.  You  men  are  treacherous,  and  I  will  not  be 
deceived." 

"  Santa  Maria  !  "  cried  Rogiero,  opening  his  eyes,  and 
quickly  closing  them  again,  as  if  to  retain  longer  an  image 
which  he  believed  a  dream ;  but  finding  that  he  thus  lost 
it,  he  opened  them  again  to  see  whether  it  were  indeed  ex- 
ternal and  real.  "  Santa  Maria  I"  repeated  the  prisoner. 
"Is  it  Yole?" 

Yole,  dressed  in  purest  white,  stood  before  him.  She 
advanced  slowly,  holding  a  dagger  in  her  raised  right  hand, 
while  with  the  left  she  clung  to  a  man  bearing  a  lantern — 
who,  however,  could  hardly  be  distinguished,  as,  either  by 
accident  or  purposely,  he  threw  all  the  light  upon  her. 
Yole  hearing  her  name,  listened  as  if  uncertain,  but  hear- 
ing it  again,  cried  :  "  Where  are  you,  Rogiero  ?  "  and  re- 
linquishing her  hold  both  of  the  man  and  the  dagger,  she 
extended  her  arms.  . 


260  The  Conspiracy. 

This  was  the  second  embrace  of  these  two  unfortunates, 
destined,  during  their  sad  lives,  to  lighten  with  the  sem- 
blance of  a  happiness  that  they  could  not  really  enjoy  the 
weight  of  the  anguish  that  they  were  obliged  to  suffer.  Un- 
happy ones  !  who,  after  so  many  days  of  separation,  could 
speak  only  with  sobs,  comfort  each  other  only  with  tears. 
They  remained  embraced.  Suddenly  Rogiero  perceived 
the  light  fading.  If  the  earth  had  slipped  from  under  his 
feet  he  would  not  have  noticed  it,  so  entirely  was  he 
taken  out  of  himself  at  that  moment ;  but  he  perceived 
the  loss  of  light,  because  it  deprived  him  of  the  sight 
of  that  face,  which  comforted  him  for  the  past  and 
strengthened  him  for  the  future.  He  looked  round, 
startled;  the  man  who  had  conducted  Yole  there  had 
softly  crept  away,  and  was  then  closing  the  door,  leaving, 
with  the  blackest  perfidy,  the  two  lovers  imprisoned. 
Rogiero  freed  himself  from  those  beloved  arms,  and,  either 
owing  to  his  great  speed,  or  to  the  trembling  of  the  jailer's 
hand  in  committing  such  a  crime,  he  reached  the  door  in 
time  to  prevent  his  shutting  it.  The  villain,  seeing  his 
design  frustrated,  attempted  to  fly  ;  but  Rogiero  pursued 
and  quickly  overtook  him,  and,  seizing  him  roughly  by 
the  throat,  dragged  rather  than  led  him  back  into  the 
prison  ;  here,  taking  the  lantern  from  his  hand,  and  turn- 
ing the  light  full  upon  him,  he  recognized  the  pilgrim. 
He  did  not  utter  a  word.  Looking  down,  the  shining  blade 
of  the  dagger  which  Yole  had  dropped  caught  his  eye : 
he  took  it,  hurled  the  jailer  to  the  ground,  knelt  on  his 
breast,  twined  his  left  hand  in  his  hair,  raising  the  dagger 
in  his  right.  The  Swabian  maiden,  who  had  stood  till 
that  moment  as  if  bewildered,  started,  uttered  a  shriek,  and 
sprang  forward  to  stay  his  hand,  exclaiming  :  "  Wretch  ! 
do  you  think  that  I  would  ever  let  myself  be  touched  by 
blood-stained  hands?" 

Rogiero  raised  his  eyes  and  looked  at  Yole,  then  at  the 
jailer, — again  at  Yole.  She  relinquished  her  lover's  hand. 
Rogiero  understood  the  gesture,  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
spurning  the  miserable  wretch  with  his  foot,  as  he  lay 
there,  cried  :  "  Live,  live  for  more  atrocious  crimes,  for  a 
more  infamous  death."  Without  further  delay  he  placed 


The  Conspiracy.  261 

the  dagger  in  his  belt,  took  the  keys,  and  passing  Yole's 
arm  within  his  own,  added  :  "  Come,  my  beloved,  for  the 
innocent  can  find  safety  only  in  flight." 

They  hastened  away.  The  jailer,  although  much  bruised, 
rose  and  followed  them  to  the  door,  conjuring  them  for 
the  love  of  God  to  take  him  away  with  them,  or  kill  him 
immediately,  but  not  to  leave  him  there  to  die  of  hunger. 
They  did  not  listen  to  him  ;  Rogiero  thrust  him  back,  and 
his  cries  were  lost  in  the  creaking  of  the  bolts  as  they 
were  pushed  through  their  rings.  History  relates  nothing 
further  of  his  fate  ;  but  a  long  time  after,  under  the  reign 
of  Charles  II.  the  Lame,  that  ancient  edifice  being  de- 
molished by  order  of  the  legate  of  the  pope,  master  of 
Benevento,  two  skeletons  were  found  in  a  dungeon,  one 
of  which  had  part  of  its  right  hand  between  its  teeth,  a 
proof  that  the  poor  wretch  perished  of  hunger ;  this  we 
suppose  to  be  that  of  the  jailer. 

Yole  and  Rogiero  walked  on,  without  knowing  whither, 
in  the  darkness  of  the  night ;  their  arms  intertwined,  her 
hand  in  his,  but  without  being  pressed, — without  trem- 
bling,— in  silence, — with  equal  steps. 

"  I  have  called  him,"  began  Yole,  as  if  speaking  to  her- 
self, "  with  the  first  glimmering  of  dawn,  before  my 
morning  prayer  ;  I  have  called  him  with  the  last  rays  of 
the  dying  day ;  .  .  .  if  he  had  but  replied  to  my  eager 
entreaty  !  My  life,  saddened  by  an  unknown  sorrow,  was 
wasted  by  blinding  ignorance, — he  appeared  to  me  bright 
as  an  angel  of  light, — the  abyss  opened  before  me,  and  he 
disappeared  like  the  lightning  in  a  storm."  ' 

All  Italians,  glowing  under  the  too  fervid  rays  of  the 
sun,  incline,  in  speaking  and  writing,  to  a  certain  figur- 
ative style,  which,  belonging  peculiarly  to  the  East,  is 
generally  called  Oriental ;  the  Neapolitans,  and  other 
inhabitants  of  the  Southern  provinces,  are  particularly 
addicted  to  it,  when  any  emotion,  glad  or  sorrowful,  ex- 
cites them  ;  therefore  no  one  will,  I  hope,  think  the  con- 
versation which  our  lovers  held  that  night  either  affected 
or  unnatural. 

"  Nor  could  I,"  replied  Rogiero,  gently  pressing  the 
hand  which  he  held  :  "  nor  could  I  hear  you ;  the  space 


262  The  Conspiracy. 

between  your  lips  and  my  heart  was  rilled  by  the  treachery 
of  man  and  the  curse  of  God  ; — the -curse  of  God,  because 
crime  incited  me  to  crime,  and  in  that  moment  a  con- 
taminated soul  devoted  itself  to  infamy." 

"  When  the  sun  shed  its  treasures  of  light,  when  the 
heavens  declared  the  glory  of  God,  I  demanded  you  of 
Heaven,  with  the  most  fervent  prayer  of  a  suffering  heart; 
— Heaven  did  not  listen  to  the  suppliant.  In  the  storm, 
by  night,  amid  the  howling  of  the  wind,  the  crashing  of 
the  thunder,  I  betook  myself  to  the  necromancers,  with 
their  sacrilegious  rites; — Eternal  God,  absolve  me  from 
the  sin  !  Everything  was  deaf  to  the  unfortunate  !  " 

"  Happy  should  I  have  been  in  any  place  where  justice 
or  mercy  could  have  placed  me,  could  I  have  been  free 
from  the  den  of  wild  beasts  called  men  !  " 

"Where  your  spirit  was,  I  did  not  know,  but  I 
mourned  for  you  as  dead;  there,  in  the  gardens  of  the 
Capuan  castle,  .  .  .  near  the  fountain,  .  .  .  between  the  gate 
and  the  cloisters  .  .  ." 

"Where  on  that  memorable  night.  .  ." 

"  You  revealed  to  me  your  love,  and  the  Swabian  maid 
listened,  there  is  a  mound  of  earth  .  .  .  these  hands  raised 
it  ...  upon  which  stands  the  cross  which  my  sister  Con- 
stance hung  round  my  neck  when  she  departed  for  Arra- 
gon  ;  there,  every  night,  I  invoked  your  spirit." 

"  Ah  !  unhappy  maiden  !  How  could  you  endure  such 
sorrow  ?  " 

"  How  !  were  not  you  also  separated  from  me  ?  Had 
not  you  also  lost  me  ?  If  to  know  it,  I  must  tell  you,  the 
attempt  would  be  useless,  you  would  never  comprehend  it." 

"  I  knew  that  you  were  living,  but  .  .  ." 

"  I  sank  under  the  stroke ;  my  intellect  gave  way,  and 
sorrow  reigned  triumphant  in  my  heart ;  only  to-night, 
after  so  long  a  time,  I  recovered  the  control  of  my  will, 
— if  indeed,"  added  she,  pressing  his  hand,  "  it  is  not  still 
a  delusion  :  but  greater  than  the  joy  of  being  free  from 
delirium  is  the  fear  of  falling  again  into  it." 

"Oh  !  do  not  say  so;  I  should  die  of  grief; — speak, 
my  beloved,  what  angel  led  your  steps  to  your  poor 
Rogiero's  prison  ?" 


The  Conspiracy.  263 

/ 

"  My  whole  mind  was  destroyed,  save  that  part  of  it 
which  answered  to  your  name ;  I  heard  Rogiero, — I 
remember  nothing  more  ....  1  awoke  in  your  arms." 

"  They  loved  each  other  so  fondly,  future  ages  will  say, 
and  loved  in  vain  .  .  ." 

"  In  vain  ?" 

Rogiero  did  not  reply. 

"  Is  your  love  one  that  requires  the  aid  of  the  Church  to 
preserve  it  inviolate  ?  That  seeks  its  reward,  as  a  work- 
man does  his  wages?  If  it  is  thus,  you  did  love  in 
vain.  .  .  I  received  all  that  love  could  give  when  my  lips 
met  yours." 

Rogiero,  gently  drawing  his  arm  from  Yole's,  put  it 
round  her,  and  taking  her  right  hand  raised  it  to  his  lips  ; 
Yole  laid  her  free  hand  upon  his  beautiful  wealth  of  hair, 
and  sadly  kissed  it. 

"Be  this,"  she  continued,  "  the  crown  of  love  upon  the 
condemned  head  .  .  ."• 

"  Condemned  !" 

"Who  can  tell  how  many,  preferring  gain  to  ease,  are 
now  seeking  you  from  place  to  place  ?  How  many  mercen- 
ary women  pray  to  the  saints,  that  their  lovers  or  their  hus- 
bands may  obtain  the  price  of  your  blood  ?  How  many 
hopes,  how  many  fears,  depend  on  your  head  ?  Between 
you  and  the  wild  beast  of  the  woods  there  is  but  this 
difference,  that  the  reward  for  you  is  the  greater." 

"  My  poor  Yole  !  " 

"No  one  defends  you,  pity  itself  is  silent,  the  sen- 
tence .  .  ." 

"  What  sentence  ?" 

"  Of  rebel  to  the  kingdom,  of  traitor  of  your  king  .  .  ." 

"  Santa  Maria  /" 

"  Are  you  innocent  ?  " 

"  Can  I  be  ?     Am  I  not  of  the  race  of  Adam  ?  " 

"  I  mean  of  treachery  ?  " 

"I  am  not..."  Yole  shrunk  back.  "Yes,  away, 
leave  me,"  continued  Rogiero  impetuously ;  "scorn  me, 
hate  me  ;  join  your  equals  !  .  ...  here  is  a  stone, .  . .  cast  it 
at  the  miserable,  ...  all  are  so  !  If  you  knew  that  there 
was  feigned  a  victim  to  be  avenged,  ...  a  crime  to  be 


264  The  Conspiracy. 

punished, .  .  .  filial  piety,  . . .  fratricide, .  .  .  if  you  knew  that 
destiny  urged  me  on  with  unknown  voices,  which  seemed  to 
proceed  from  the  spirits — dwellers  of  the  earth  and  air  ;  ... 
that  my  steps  were  driven  to  crime,  as  the  torrent  is  to  the 
ocean  ; . .  .  that  they  influenced  even  my  dreams,  . . .  would 
you,  daughter  of  earth,  could  you,  condemn  me  ?  Oh !  if 
there  were  any  one  who  could  descend  into  the  dark  depth, 
weigh  the  thoughts,  and  scrutinize  the  hearts,  and  stand 
between  my  judges  and  me ;  hear  my  defence,  and  render 
justice, — who  would  dispute  with  me  the  prize  of  patience  ? 
who  would  take  from  them  the  penalty  of  madness  ?  With- 
in here,"  and  Rogiero  touched  his  breast,  "  eyes  of  flesh 
cannot  penetrate :  "*  the  remembrances  of  men  are  like 
ashes,  their  bodies  like  bodies  of  clay  : '  the  earthly  judge 
pronounces  the  sentence  with  anger,  because  he  confounds 
the  crime  with  the  man,  and  pardon  appears  to  him  an 
injury, — absolution  a  sin." 

Just  then  the  approaching  tramp  of  horses  struck  upon 
the  lovers'  ears.  "  Fly,"  cried  Yole  ;  "  whatever  you  may 
be,  we  shall  be  blest,  meeting  in  paradise,  or  will  despair 
together  among  the  lost.  I  love  you  ; "  and  she  quickened 
her  steps  ;  "if  they  overtake  us,  I  will  defend  you, .  .  .  I  ! 
fool  that  I  am  !  Can  innocence  or  prayer  avail  against 
the  pitilessness  of  avarice  ?  Mother  of  God  !  they  have 
seen  us  :  ...  hear  how  rapidly  they  follow !  .  .  .  they  are 
close  upon  us. .  . .  Holy  Virgin,  protect  us  !  But  I  have  so 
often  entreated  Heaven  in  vain,  let  us  have  recourse  to 
flight.  .  .  .  Who  will  help  us  to  escape  from  the  eagerness 
of  their  pursuit  ?  We  are  taken  ! " 

"  Be  firm  !  "  whispered  Rogiero,  seeing  that  their  pur- 
suers had  overtaken  them,  and  boldly  advancing,  said : 
"  Sir  Knights,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  guide  me  to 
the  palace,  for,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  I  can  restore  the 
king  his  daughter." 

"  Santo  Germano  be  praised  ! "  replied  the  captain  of 
the  troops  ;  "  we  have  been  seeking  her  all  over  Bene- 
vento.  Princess,  the  queen,  your  mother  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  my  poor  mother  !  Let  me  go  and  console  her  ; 
but  how  I  can  console  her,  I  do  not  know  ;  every  one  I 


The  Conspiracy.  265 

see  turns  sadly  away  ;  think  what  she  must  have  suffered 
when  the  sight  of  me  gives  her  comfort !  " 

"  Sir  Knight,"  said  Rogiero,   "farewell.    Princess.  .  ." 

"  No,  Sir  Knight,  I  cannot  let  you  depart  unknown  ; 
you  must  come  with  me  to  the  royal  palace  ;  I  do  not 
wish  to  deprive  you  of  what  the  gratitude  of  my  royal 
master  may  deign  to  bestow  upon  you." 

"  Sir,  thank  God,  I  require  no  other  reward  for  good 
deeds  than  the  pleasure  I  derive  from  them." 

"I  can  readily  believe  you,  Sir  Knight;  but  gratitude 
may  be  shown  not  only  with  jewels  and  gold.  .  ." 

"  Nevertheless  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  impossible  .  .  ." 

"  But  .  .  ." 

"  I  beg  it  of  you  as  a  favor ;  do  not  refuse  ;  mount  my 
horse,  for  I  must  attend  the  princess,  and  cannot  very 
well  take  her  up  behind  me." 

Rogiero,  thinking  that  if  he  persisted  it  might  excite 
suspicion,  followed  the  advice  of  the  knight,  who  ordered 
his  band  to  fall  back  a  little.  They  had  thus  advanced 
about  a  hundred  paces,  when  Yole,  reflecting  upon  how 
much  had  happened  in  a  few  hours,  unable  to  sustain  the 
intensity  of  her  thoughts,  or  to  understand  how  it  had  all 
been  brought  about,  began  to  wander  more  wildly  than 
before. 

"  Wretch  !  "  she  cried  to  the  captain  who  was  escort- 
ing her,  "  you  have  deceived  me  with  fair  words,  you  are 
taking  me  to  his  execution  ;  can  he  not  die  without  me  ? 
Of  what  use  is  this  additional  cruelty  ?  You  do  not 
speak — you  are  confounded — can  you  not  defend  your- 
self ?  I  do  not  ask  for  his  life,  for  that  is  sacrificed  to 
your  avarice  ;  but  do  not  compel  me  to  witness  his  death." 

"  Princess,  on  my  honor  as  a  knight,  I  am  taking  you 
to  your  mother." 

"  Do  you  dare  to  say  so  ?  Silence,  do  not  perjure  your- 
self!  Say  that  you  wish  to  be  cruel.  ...  I  will  believe 
you.  ...  I  cannot  injure  you  :  ...  it  cannot  avail  now  to 
falsely  call  yourself  honorable ;  .  .  .  how  many  people  ! 
What  a  crowd  !  " 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  the  knight,  looking  round. 
12 


266  The  Conspiracy. 

"  How  many  people  are  flocking  to  the  square,  but  it 
is  not  pity  that  draws  them  ;  ...  do  not  believe  it ;  ... 
they  pretend  so,  ...  but  they  are  morbidly  curious — as 
ready  to  laugh  at  the  sight  of  blood,  as  to  weep  at  the 
sight  of  the  steps  that  lead  to  the  scaffold  .  .  ." 

"  But  we  are  now  in  the  street  of  San  Salvadore." 

"  It  is  a  festival ;  .  .  .  the  bells  are  ringing,  but  no  one 
knows  why ;  perhaps  to  call  God  to  witness — stop — 
hush  ! — woe  the  sight !  See  the  executioner  ;  his  eyes 
are  cast  down  in  token  of  compassion  ;  but  do  you  not 
see  a  gleam  of  malignant  pleasure,  a  feeling  of  gladness, 
at  his  power  to  destroy  ?  The  word  brother  is  on  his  lips, 
but  do  you  not  see  a  smile  of  joy  distort  his  features  ?  " 

"  Princess,  do  you  not  see  that  it  is  night  ?  Such 
deeds  are  not  done  in  darkness." 

"  Ah,  for  pity  !  The  sufferer  ascends  the  steps.  ...  I 
know  him.  .  .  .  Rogiero  !  Rogiero  ! " 

Rogiero  had  listened  intently  to  this  conversation, 
with  what  anguish  may  be  easily  imagined  ;  and  now, 
risking  everything  rather  than  leave  her  uncomforted, 
pretending  that  he  wished  to  speak  to  the  knight,  he 
drew  bridle  and  was  quickly  at  Vole's  side.  She  was  not 
yet  free  from  the  frightful  vision.  He  dismounted,  and 
gently  taking  her  hand,  said,  "  I  am  Rogiero." 

The  sound  of  his  voice  produced  the  accustomed  ef- 
fect :  the  afflicted  girl  recognized  him  and  grew  calm. 
Rogiero  wept,  and  the  captain  involuntarily  raising  his 
hand  to  his  eyes,  found  the  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks  ; 
•  well  did  he  know  the  state  of  the  case,  and  perhaps  even 
more  than  was  to  be  known.  Looking  more  closely  at 
Rogiero,  he  remembered  him,  for  he  had  seen  him  very 
often  ;  he  might  gain  two  thousand  schifati,  that  is,  nearly 
fourteen  thousand  sequins,  by  denouncing  him  ;  no  one 
could  blame  him,  for  it  would  be  loyalty  to  his  king ;  he 
could  also  thus  obtain  favor  with  Manfred  ; — but  praised 
be  virtue  !  he  abhorred  the  price  of  blood,  and  said  to 
Rogiero,  "  Squire,  if  you  are  guilty,  I  will  not  be  the  one 
to  accuse  you ;  if  innocent,  to  betray  you  :  if  you  had 
.  any  base  motive  for  sinning,  have  now  an  honorable  one 
for  reforming  :  take  my  horse  and  depart ;  disguise  your- 


The  Spy.  267 

self,  and  leave  Benevento ;  at  the  frontier,  times  are  ap- 
proaching when,  if  guilty,  you  can  win  reward  ;  if  innocent, 
honor ;  do  not  hesitate  a  moment ;  you  might  be  lost 
if  you  delayed  for  thanks  ;  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the 
princess  will  not  detain  you." 

Yole  bowed  her  paleface  ingratitude  upon  the  knight's 
shoulder,  who  added  :  "  Away  now,  hasten." 

Rogiero  sprang  again  into  the  saddle,  and  bending 
down  to  the  daughter  of  Manfred,  exclaimed  :  "  My  soul 
is  with  you  ! "  and  disappeared. 

Yole  sighed,  but  did  not  reply ;  following  her  faithful 
escort,  and  cheered  by  a  ray  of  hope,  she  returned  to  her 
mother's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XVIT. 

THE    SPY. 

Quanta,  e  qual  sia  quell' oste,  e  cio  che  pensi 
II  duce  loro,  a  voi  ridir  prometto. 
Vantomi  in  lui  scoprir  gPintimi  sensi,  * 
E  i  secreti  pensier  trargli  dal  petto. 

TASSO,  Gerusalemme  Liberata. 

What  and  how  great  the  host,  and  what  may  be 
Their  leader's  thoughts,  I  promise  you  to  show. 

It  is  my  boast  his  hidden  mind  to  see, 

And  the  deep  secrets  of  his  breast  to  know. 

M.  G.  M. 

HE  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  suitable  it  appears 
to  me,  that  those  compositions  which  are  called 
romances  should  be  likened  to  "  rose-trees  in 
full  bearing."  .Bright  with  blossoms,  most  beau- 
tiful with  their  crimson  adornments,  most  delightful  from 
their  exquisite  perfume,  they  attract  the  gaze  of  the  pas- 
ser-by, who,  enchanted,  wonders  how  a  flower  can  have  so 
many  of  the  charms  of  his  loved  one's  face.  The  com- 


268  The  Spy. 

parison  gains  force,  if  we  consider,  that  as  the  rose  is  sur- 
rounded by  thorns,  so  the  paths  that  lead  to  success  are 
also  strewn  with  obstacles,  some  difficult  to  overcome, 
some  impossible.  They  differ,  however,  in  this,  that  in 
passing  by  the  rose-tree  we  are  contented  with  the  beauty  of 
the  flower,  without  caring,  partly  from  want  of  will,  but 
more  from  want  of  power,  to  study  the  causes  of  its  birth, 
its  life,  or  its  death.  With  the  romance,  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  very  different :  art  teaches  us  to  arrange  the  events 
in  a  strange,  mysterious  manner,  and  to  present  them 
with  as  much  skill  as  the  poet  can  devise,  so  that  the 
emotions  of  the  reader  may  be  excited  more  and  more  to 
the  end ;  but  at  that  very  point  the  greatest  care,  must  be 
taken  to  unfold  the  plot  naturally,  so  that  he  may  not  be 
irritated  by  finding  that  he  has  wasted  his  tears  upon  trials 
in  nothing  appertaining  to  human  nature.  This  is  the 
labor,  this  the  trial ;  this  to  genius  is  the  rock  ;  to  medi- 
ocrity the  abyss  ;  and  such  certainly  it  would  be  to  us,  were 
not  the  events  which  we  are  relating  true,  or  at  least  had 
we  not  found  them  in  an  ancient  chronicle,  written  on 
parchment,  in  Gothic  characters,  with  the  capitals  illum- 
inated and  gilded,  which,  although  a  little  injured  by  the 
moths,  rats,  and  damp,  we  look  upon  as  a  great  treasure, 
as  any  one  will  be  convinced  who  will  come  and  see  it. 

The  chronicle  relates,  that  one  day,  as  the  Count  della 
Cerra  was  shut  up  in  his  private  room,  examining  some 
papers  of  great  importance,  he  heard  a  knock  at  the  door  ; 
asking  who  it  was,  he  was  answered,  that  a  pilgrim,  who 
appeared  to  have  travelled  far,  was  very  urgent  to  speak 
to  him.  "A  pilgrim?  Let  him  ^come  in,"  commanded 
della  Cerra.  A  few  minutes  after,  a  man  entered,  who,  first 
closing  the  door  carefully,  went  up  to  the  count,  and 
throwing  off  his  pilgrim's  dress,  showed  who  he  was. 

"  Gisfredo  !  You  here  !  You  dressed  as  a  pilgrim  !  Who 
would  have  recognized  you  ?  " 

"  Where  nature  fails,  art  supplies  the  deficiency,  Sir 
Count." 

"  What  news  ?  Is  that  simpleton  dead  yet  ?  Has 
your  sharpness,  joined  to  his  weakness,  already  destroyed 
him?  Tell  me,  tell  me,  I  am  impatient  to  know;  sit 


The  Spy.  269 

down  beside  me  ;  you  will  be  more  comfortable,  and  I 
shall  hear  better." 

"Too  much  honor,  my  master,"  replied  Gisfredo,  bow- 
ing, and  not  wishing  to  accept  the  invitation  ;  but  the 
count  insisting,  he  obeyed,  and  being  hurried  again  by  a 
most  emphatic  "  Well?"  began  his  narrative  : 

"  My  master,  since  the  night  when  you  ordered  me  so 
earnestly  to  watch  Rogiero's  movements,  I,  anxious  to 
please  you,  have  never  lost  trace  of  him.  That  same 
night  I  met  him,  when,  I  know  not  whether  by  chance  or 
purposely,  he  was  spurring  headlong  towards  a  torrent, 
where  he  would  have  killed  himself  if  I  had  not  stopped  . 
him.  Trusting  to  the  service  I  had  rendered,  I  asked  for 
his  company,  for  then  I  should  ha^ebeen  far  more  sure  of 
him,  but  he  repulsed  me  angrily.  The  next  day  (a  cold 
shiver  seizes  me  when  I  think  of  it)  a  troop  of  ban- 
ditti stopped  me,  and  after  ill-treating  me,  and  taking 
away  all  my  money,  which  I  carried  in  a  purse,  they  were 
going,  at  all  risks,  to  propaginate  me.  Both  by  disposition 
and  by  habit  I  am  averse  from  boasting  of  what  I  have 
done  for  your  lordship  ;  and  then,  no  matter  how  much  I 
did,  I  could  never  acquit  myself  of  the  immense  obliga- 
tions I  am  under  to  you,  my  master;  but  I  swear — 

"Cut  it  short,  Gisfredo;  you  were  in  danger  of  your 
life?  It  would  have  been  a  great  misfortune,  truly,  if 
they  had  killed  you  !  Are  rascals  scarce  in  this  world  ?  '^ 

"  Your  lordship  is  right.  It  is  sufficient  to  know  that 
I  was  saved." 

"  I  knew  it  already,  for  the  devil  always  helps  his  own." 

"  Your  lordship  is  right.  I  followed  him  with  all  the 
ardor  of  vengeance,  all  the  cunning  of  cowardice  ;  as  long 
as  he  was  sufficiently  excited  by  himself,  I  let  him  alone  ; 
but  as  he  approached  the  French  army  he  began  to 
slacken  his  zeal.  This  new  hesitancy  reached  such  a  pitch, 
that  I  thought  it  well  to  introduce  myself- into  his  room 
by  night,  and  excite  him  by  saying  in  a  sad,  ghostly  voice  : 
'  Remember  your  father!  He  crossed  the  Po  with  incred- 
ible fury,  then  fell  back,  worse  than  ever,  into  that  state 
of  irresolution  ;  then  I  thought  that  I  would  precede  him, 
and  presented  myself  to  Count  Buoso,  told  him  that  I 


270  The  Spy. 

was  your  servant,  showed  him  my  letters-patent,  and  in- 
formed him  that  a  Neapolitan  courier,  with  letters  address- 
ed to  him,  was  a  day's  journey  behind  me,  and  that  he 
had  better  send  some  of  his  people  to  meet  and  escort 
him,  for  if  he  were  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Ghibellines 
with  those  papers  upon  him,  it  might  do  a  great  deal  of 
mischief.  Buoso  sent  some  men,  who  brought  him  there. 
It  was  dark,  and  I  hid  myself  in  a  corridor,  to  see  him  as  he 
passed,  and  I  can  tell  you,  my  master,  the  storm  of  con- 
tending passions  which  rent  his  soul  was  an  astounding 
thing  to  witness ;  hardly  able  to  stand,  he  leaned  against 
the  wall  for  support,  unable  to  go  either  forward  or  back." 

"Do  you  enjoy  describing  his  despair,  miscreant?" 

"Think  how  you  w^ild  have  enjoyed  seeing  it,  my 
master  !  Finding  that  he  delayed  too  long,  I  crept  softly 
near  him,  and  murmured  in  his  ear,  '  Remember  your 
father.'  He  turned,  and  pursued  me  eagerly,  whilst  I, 
familiar  with  the  place,  fled  from  room  to  room,  till  I  had 
brought  him  to  the  one  where  Duera  was ;  I  then  easily 
slipped  away  from  him.  From  that  time  his  course  was 
unavoidable  ;  the  Ghibelline  traitor  received  the  letters . . ." 

"  Convert,  you  mean." 

"  Convert.  The  French  received  theirs,  and  he  re- 
mained in  their  camp  till  they  reached  Rome  ! " 

"What!  Is  he  no  longer  with  them?"  demanded 
Count  Anselmo  with  a  terrible  oath,  striking  his  fist  upon 
the  table. 

"  Listen.  At  Rome  the  tournament  was  announced. 
Rogiero,  and  Ghino  di  Tacco,  the  most  famous  bandit  in 
Italy,  fought  there  unknown  :  I  saw  them  deal  such  ter- 
rible blows  as  1  do  not  believe  were  ever  equalled,  far  less 
surpassed,  in  the  world.  Woe  to  us,  my  master,  if  we 
should  ever  become  the  object  of  them  !  " 

Anselmo  changed  color,  and  in  a  voice  less  firm  than 
usual,  ordered,  "  Proceed." 

"  The  French  were  unhorsed,  and  almost  all  severely 
wounded  ;  a  Kilmont  was  killed  ;  De  Montfort — De 
Montfort  himself — was  declared  conquered,  and  carried 
away  for  dead  from  the  field — " 

"  What  matters  that  ?    Go  on." 


The  Spy.  271 

"The  victory  won,  Ghino,  Rogiero,  and  their  compan- 
ions escaped  ;  I  hastened  to  follow  them  at  a  distance, 
and  saw  them  enter  the  forest  near  Frascati,  where 
Rogiero  stayed  several  days  to  heal  the  wounds  which  he 
had  received.  One  afternoon,  as  I  was  stealing  towards 
the  house  to  gain  intelligence,  I  saw  him  go  alone  out 
into  the  forest  ;  I  might  have  killed  him, — there  was  not 
a  soul  near,  and  he  was  unarmed, — but  I  had  no  orders, 
so  I  gave  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  and  abstained. 
Hearing  him  utter  strange  words,  I  softly  climbed  a  tree, 
and  to  render  him  desperate,  repeated,  '  Remember 
your  father'  He  seemed  like  a  wounded  boar ;  blind 
with  passion,  he  sought  me  through  the  forest,  and  wan- 
dered hither  and  thither,  till  just  at  nightfall  he  reached 
the  Abbey  of  San  Vittorino  :  there,  my  master,  a  piece  of 
ill-luck  was  preparing  for  us  all .  .  ." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Your  soldier  Roberto,  having  become  a  friar,  lay 
there  dying." 

"  Ah  !     And  he  related  to  him  .  .  ." 

"  As  a  lay  brother  told  me,  the  whole  story  of  your 
treachery." 

"  Treachery  !     Did  you  say  treachery  ?  " 

"It  was  not  I  who  said  it — I  am  telling  you  what  the 
lay  brother  said." 

"  We  are  lost !  "  muttered  Count  Anselmo,  unprepared 
for  the  intelligence  :  "  1  warned  that  simpleton  of  it ; — 
they  will  commit  crimes,  and  cannot  stifle  remorse.  If  I 
had  killed  him  a  day  before,  all  would  have  been  safe." 
And  without  thinking,  he  put  his  hand  to  his  belt,  and  drew 
his  dagger.  Gisfredo,  rising,  drew  back.  They  re- 
mained silent  for  several  minutes,  when  finally  the  count, 
looking  round,  said  :  "  Gisfredo,  where  are  you  ?  Come 
back  here  ;  why  did  you  go  away  ?  "  Then  noticing  the 
dagger  in  his  right  hand,  he  replaced  it,  adding :  "  Do 
not  fear.  Do  you  not  know  that  you  are  more  necessary 
to  me  than  any  one  else  ?  "  and  he  muttered  between  his 
teeth,  "  Your  hour  is  not  yet  come." 

"  My  master  is  right ;  but  I  can  hear  just  as  well  stand- 
ing." 


272  The  Spy. 

"  Do  as  you  please.     There  is,  then,  no  escape  ?  " 

"  Cannot  you  find  any  ?  The  deuce  !  Is  a  head  like 
yours,  my  master,  to  be  drowned  in  a  goblet  ?  " 

"Tell  me  if  you  know  of  anything,  for  Heaven's 
sake ! " 

"  I  would  willingly,  but  truly  I  am  ashamed  to.  It  ap- 
pears to  me  so  easy,  that  you  cannot  but  have  thought 
of  it ;  and  then  it  is  not  becoming  in  me,  who  have 
learned  only  grammar  enough  to  take  orders,  to  teach  a 
baron  like  you,  who  are  deeply  skilled  in  the  mysteries  of 
astrology." 

"  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  my  head  is  somewhat  con- 
fused to-day, — lately  everything  has  gone  wrong." 

"Ah  !  my  lord,  I  know  how  to  make  them  go  right  ; 
but  you  do  not,  or  rather  will  not." 

"  That  is  ?  " 

"  Spend  freely ;  you  are  chamberlain,  and  can  do  it, 
and  not  with  your  own  money  either ;  in  our  days 
people  do  not  work  for  love."  . 

"  Ah  !    You  want  money?  " 

"  Not  for  myself,  really,  baron  ;  for  what  can  I  want 
of  money,  when  I  have  your  favor?  Although,  truly,  the 
robbers  took  all  that  you  gave  me .  .  ." 

"  I  do  not  know  about  robbers  ;  but  certainly  a  rob- 
ber did,  when  I  gave  it  to  you."- 

"  You  do  not  believe  it  ?     I  swear  by .  .  ." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  for  an  oath  in  your  mouth  would 
be  an  additional  reason  for  not  believing  you." 

"Well,  just  as  you  please;  men  have  often  been  de- 
ceived through  too  much  suspicion.  The  amount  of  it  is, 
that  I  have  no  more  of  the  money,  and  to  serve  you  effec- 
tually I  must  have  some." 

"What  need  was  there  of  so  much  circumlocution  to 
come  to  the  point  ?  Here,  here  are  some  agostari." 

Gisfredo  extended  his  hand  like  one  accustomed  to  such 
presents,  and  put  them  away  safely,  bowing  his  thanks, 
and  resumed  his  former  demeanor. 

Anselmo  added :  "  You  rascal,  now  that  you  have 
them,  tell  me  what  you  intend  to  do." 

"I   protest,  my  master,  that  Gisfredo  cares  as   little 


The  Spy.  273 

for  money  as  a  dog  for  blows ;  but  what  I  intend  to  do 
for  your  advantage  cannot  be  accomplished  except  by 
money  ;  times  are  hard,  human  nature  grows  worse 
every  day,  and  men  are  such  villains  that  they  won't  do 
one  a  favor  until  they  are  paid  for  it." 

"  You  are  both  proof  and  argument." 

"Listen,  baron.  Rogiero,  leaving  Ghino,  will  of  course 
go  directly  to  Manfred ;  that  is  certain.  Now,  as  I  have 
learned  on  the  way  that  the  king  has  convoked  the  Parlia- 
ment of  the  kingdom  to  meet  at  Benevento  in  a  few 
days,  his  route  must  necessarily  be  to  that  city  ;  my  ad- 
vice, then,  would  be  for  me  to  set  out  immediately  with 
fifteen  or  twenty  brave  men,  lie  in  wait  for  him,  and  make 
him  food  for  the  wolves." 

"  San  Germano  !  "  exclaimed  Count  Anselmo,  striking 
his  forehead,  "  so  true  is  it,  that  to  see  clearly  what  is 
near,  one  should  be  short-sighted  !  What  you  say  is  good, 
but  only  in  part.  In  the  first  place,  you  must  take  fewer 
men  with  you,  so  as  not  to  excite  suspicion,  and  instead 
of  taking  bandits  you  must  stop  at  Count  Caserta's  castle 
on  the  way,  and  bear  an  order  from  me  to  the  governor, 
who  will  furnish  you  with  three  or  four  soldiers — not 
more,  I  command  you — and  take  care  that  they  do  not 
wear  the  livery  of  Aquino  :  as  to  killing  him,  it  seems  to 
me  that  that  is  not  good  counsel ;  what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Do  what  you  please  :  I  have  given  my  opin- 
ion ; — dead  men  tell  no  tales." 

Count  Anselmo  reflected  for  some  time,  and  then  con- 
tinued :  "No,  no;  that  bloody  corpse, — on  the  high- 
way,— just  at  the  time  of  the  assembling  of  Parliament, 
— a  squire, — a  deserter, — under  sentence,  would  make  it 
seem  more  important,  and  would  induce  them  to  search 
into  the  matter  more  than  it  is  really  worth.  Try  to  take 
him  alive;  if  you  cannot,  why,  kill  him,  but  bring  his 
body  away  with  you,  remove  every  trace,  and  bury  it 
where  it  cannot  be  found.  Go,  and  make  all  possible 
haste." 

He  departed.  The  reader  already  knows  what  he  did, 
and  the  result ;  for  Gisfredo,  finding  that  he  could  not 
kill  Rogiero  without  danger,  brought  him  insensible  to 
12* 


2/4  The  Spy. 

Benevento,  where,  finding  Count  Anselmo,  who  had  ar- 
rived there  before  the  court,  he  put  him,  by  his  orders, 
into  the  dungeon  of  the  Roman  legate's  palace,  which 
had  long  been  deserted,  and  which,  through  neglect,  was 
partly  in  ruins.  The  count  intended  him  to  die  of  hunger, 
not,  like  Gisfredo,  from  desire  of  his  death,  but  to  save 
the  expense  of  keeping  him  alive. 

Having  fulfilled  his  commission,  Gisfredo  returned  to 
the  dwelling  of  Count  Anselmo,  and  said,  "  That  is 
done,  baron  ;  our  young  gentleman  will  become  a  saint, 
and  perform  miracles  ;  he  is  already  in  the  cloister  ;  at 
present  all  that  is  wanting  is  to  lock-the  door  and  to  throw 
the  keys  into  the  Galore,  and  all  is  finished."  * 

<;  Let  us  think  of  something  else  :  but  find  some  priest 
to  say  a  mass  for  him,  so  that  his  soul  may  not  accuse  us, 
and  may  know  that  we  have  behaved  like  good  and  loyal 
Christians  ;  for  the  rest,  we  leave  him  to  God." 

"  You  are  right,  my  master,"  replied  Gisfredo,  half  in 
irony,  half  in  earnest,  not  knowing  exactly  which  Anseimo 
intended.  Seeing  a  slight  smile  on  the  count's  lips,  he 
added,  laughing:  "I  will  say  the  mass  myself;  I  am  cer- 
tain that  some  one  in  the  other  world,  either  above  or  be- 
low, will  hear  it." 

"  You  will  certainly  come  to  some  dreadful  end,  Gis- 
fredo, you  are  so  wicked  !  I  am  now  about  to  intrust  a 
more  delicate  charge  to  you,  and  one  fully  worthy  of  your 
talents  :  lay  aside  that  pilgrim  garb,  put  on  the  livery  of 
my  house,  and  go  to  court ;  you  will  not  be  noticed,  of 
if  you  are,  as  my  servant  you  will  also  be  respected  ;  as- 
sociate with  Manfred's  people,  keep  an  eye  upon  the 
ministers,  the  king,  the  queen,  everyone;  mark  their 
movements,  their  words,  their  looks,  and  if  you  can,  even 
their  thoughts  ;  be  faithful  to  me  ;  remember  that  my  fall 
would  be  accompanied  by  your  ruin,  my  elevation  by 
your  advantage." 

*  The  Galore  is  a  river  near  Benevento.  The  author  alludes  to 
the  fate  of  Count  Ugolino,  who,  with  his  four  children,  was  starved 
to  death  in  the  tower  Mnda,  in  Pisa.  It  was  the  Archbishop  Rug- 
gieri  who  had  them  locked  into  that  tower,  and  had  the  keys  thrown 
into  the  Arno.  See  Dante,  Inferno,  XXXIII. 


The  Spy.  275 

Gisfredo  executed  the  orders  of  his  master,  partly  (and 
here  he  was  mistaken)  in  the  hope  of  receiving  some 
great  reward,  and  partly  from  inclination.  He  entered 
court,  and,  like  the  crafty  knave  he  really  was,  appeared, 
now  fawning,  now  haughty,  here  exercising  courtesy, 
there  villany,  withdrawing  and  reappearing  at  suitable 
times,  flattering  the  roughest  of  the  barons  by  servility, 
gaining  over  the  most  quick-witted  of  the  servants  with  a 
few  agostari,  and  succeeded  in  a  few  hours  in  learning 
more  than  any  one  else  would  have  discovered  in  as  many 
years.  In  spite  of  his  cunning,  however,  destiny,  which 
so  often  opposes  generous  deeds,  had  decreed  that  his 
evil  ones  should  prove  fatal  to  him  :  those  which  we  have 
related  have  already  exposed  him,  as  we  have  seen,  to 
much  danger  ;  we  shall  now  learn  how  the  last,  in  which 
he  lost  his  life,  was  brought  about. 

The  family  of  Manfred,  wearied  with  the  exertions  of 
the  day,  had  sought  that  sleep  which  for  a  long  time  had 
not  descended  uninvoked  upon  their  eyelids.  'Gisfredo, 
with  careful,  stealthy  steps,  and  attentive  ears,  had,  to 
make  himself  more  useful  to  Count  Anselmo,  pene- 
trated into  the  most  retired  of  the  royal  apartments.  The 
fates  led  him  on  :  he  enters  a  long  passage,  feeling  his 
way,  and  walking  on  tiptoe ;  hardly  daring  to  breathe,  he 
passes  through  it,  reaches  a  large  hall,  leaves  the  wall 
which  has  hitherto  guided  him,  and  goes  forward ;  he 
has  scarcely  reached  the  centre  of  the  room,  when  a  re- 
pressed groan  warns  him  that  there  is  some  one  there  : — 
he  stops,  a  female  voice  wails  through  the  vast  apart- 
ment. 

"  Can  he,"  cries  the  mourner,  "  can  he  have  pretended 
an  affection?  Has  the  demon  taught  him  to  feign  a 
passion,  to  wither  my  heart,  destroy  my  intellect,  and 
consume  my  life  ?  Were  they  all  feigned,  his  courteous 
acts,  his  long  homage,  his  look,  his  voice,  his  embrace, 
his  kiss — all  false  ?  Were  not  his  words  frenzied  with 
love,  did  he  not  tremble,  not  sigh  deeply  ?  And  yet  he 
has  left  me  alone  in  this  path  of  sorrows  :  the  thought 
of  parents,  of  heaven  itself,  cannot  console  me  ;  my  pas- 
sion is  stronger  than  they.  Let  me  at  least  be  assured 


276  The  Spy. 

of  his  death,  that  I  may  know  where  to  direct  my  com- 
plaints ;  if  the  grave  hold  his  body,  at  least  may  it  leave 
his  soul  free — or  rather  let  it  still  retain  it,  that  he  may 
leave  it  for  a  moment  to  tell  me  that  he  did  not  feign — 
that  he  did  love  me  : — but  a  moment,  and  then  eternity 
may  claim  him.  Life, — life  is  in  the  blood,  and  his  blood 
has  been  shed.  Oh,  that  I  had  his  corpse  !  I  would 
watch  it  as  if  he  were  sleeping  ;  I  would  deceive  myself, 
saying:  '  Presently  he  will  wake.'  And  since  he  could 
not  be  united  to  me  in  life,  I  would  stay  beside  his  bed, 
waiting  with  resignation  to  be  united  to  him  in  death.  I 
would  warm  his  cold  lips  with  kisses,  I  would  pour  balm 
into  his  wound, — Good  Heavens?  What  a  wound! 
deep,  directly  through  his  breast, — it  is  mortal, — tell  me 
the  truth,  is  it  incurable,  master?  *  He  does  not  answer 
me, — he  weeps, — and  you  too  weep,  Gismonda.  O 
Rogiero  !  who  slew  you  ?  Rogiero  ! " 

She  rose  hastily,  and  came  rapidly  forward  towards 
Gisfredo,'who,  retreating  with  less  than  his  usual  caution, 
stumbled  over  a  footstool  with  a  great  noise  :  the  acci- 
dent confused  him,  and  he  lost  the  direction  of  the  door  ; 
groping  for  the  wall,  the  more  he  sought  it,  the  farther  he 
went  from  it.  Yole  (for  Yole  it  was  who  was  thus  lament- 
ing), furious  at  the  interruption,  sprang  forward  and  caught 
him  by  the  breast, — her  hand  struck  upon  the  hilt  of  a 
dagger.  Still  holding  him  fast,  she  drew  it,  and  threaten- 
ing to  bury  it  in  his  breast,  cried :  "  You  killed  him  ! 
God  has  thrown  you  in  my  way  that  I  may  avenge  him." 

The  present  danger,  no  less  than  the  worse  impending, 
if  that  cry  of  Yole's  should  bring  any  one  to  her  aid,  so 
cowed  Gisfredo,  that  by  accident,  rather  than  with  any 
real  intention,  he  replied,  "  Have  pity,  my  lady ;  your 
Rogiero  is  alive." 

"Alive!" 

"  I  swear  it  by  all  the  saints  in  paradise." 

"  Alive  ! " 

"  Yes,  alive  and  well  as  you  are,  my  lady." 

*'  It  is  not  true  ;  you  are  deceiving  roe." 

*  The  title  given  to  physicians  in  those  times. 


The  Spy.  277 

"  Do  you  not  believe  in  the  saints  ?  " 

"  I  believe  in  them — but  in  you,  no  .  .  ." 

"  But  he  is  alive  .  .  ." 

"  Then  lead  me  to  him,  and  until  I  see  him,  do  not 
hope  that  I  shall  release  my  hold  of  you,  or  remove  this 
dagger  from  your  throat." 

"  Holy  Virgin  !  We  shall  be  seen,  my  lady,  we  shall 
be  stopped  ;  you  will  ruin  us  both  ;  you  will  never  see 
Rogiero  again  ;  to-morrow,  I  swear  to  you  .  .  ." 

The  Swabian  maid,  infuriated  by  passion,  pricked  him 
slightly,  at  which  Gisfredo  nearly  fainted  with  terror,  and 
in  a  stern  voice  ordered,  il  Lead  on,  and  be  silent." 

Gisfredo,  seeing  that  there  was  no  time  to  devise  means 
of  escape,  and  that  nothing  could  save  him  but  honest 
dealing,  prepared,  though  sorely  against  his  will,  to  act 
honestly  :— it  seemed  as  if,  even  when  he  really  en- 
deavored, he  had  not  the  power  to  do  what  he  ought ;  his 
limbs  themselves  seemed  to  become  involuntary  traitors. 
The  Swabian  maiden  held  him  tightly,  and  often,  suspect- 
ing him,  gave  him  a  slight  prick.  He  would  utter  a  low 
"  Ah  !  "  and  for  a  few  steps  would  give  her  no  cause  for 
suspicion  ;  then  again  would  do  worse  than  before.  Thus 
they  reached  the  court :  two  sentries  were  pacing  up 
and  down  before  the  great  gate ;  to  pass  through  it  with- 
out being  seen,  was  impossible.  There  is  no  royal  palace 
without  secret  doors,  by  which,  as  Giuseppe  Parini  writes, 
truth  sometimes  enters.  Yole  remembered,  just  in  time, 
that  there  was  one  in  the  building  where  they  were.  She 
drew  Gisfredo  to  it,  almost  by  force  ;  and  thus  they 
reached  the  open  air.  What  happened  afterwards,  the 
reader  has  already  learned. 


278  Despair. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DESPAIR. 

Visibilmente  si  tramuta  in  faccia, 
E  trema  d'una  larva  che  il  minaccia. 

GROSSI,  I  Lombard i,  'alia  Prima  Crociata. 

His  features  a  visible  change  betrayed, 

And  trembled  his  limbs  at  a  threatening  shade. 

M.  G.  M. 

^ANFRED  !— In  the  time  when,  if  his  confidence 
in  his  own  wishes  was  rash,  much  greater  were 
the  will  of  men  and  the  vicissitudes  of  events  to 
uphold  him;  borne  on  "by  fortune's  favoring 
gale,"  we  have  not  attempted  to  describe  him  :  now,  in 
the  dark  hour  of  adversity,  the  heart  is  moved  by  sensa- 
tions that  no  one,  however  magnanimous,  would  wish  to 
repress  ;  there  arise  in  the  depths  of  the  mind  thoughts 
that  no  one,  however  exalted,  could  call  base.  The  Power 
that  rules  the  destinies  of  the  world  has  willed  that  to 
attain  the  reputation  of  greatness,  the  exercise  of  virtue 
— that  is,  what  we  call  virtue — is  unnecessary.  Nor  let 
any  one  boldly  question  this  opinion,  for  we  will  ask  him, 
if  that  was  virtue  which  led  the  ancient  father  to  support 
by  the  labor  of  his  hands  his  numerous  family,  and  both 
by  precept  and  example  to  bring  them  up  in  the  love  of 
their  fellow-men,  and  in  the  fear  of  GOD.  And  when  he 
assents,  we  will  ask  him  again,  why  hardly  a  passing 
whisper  of  memory  breathes  of  him  in  the  village  where 
he  dwelt  ?  Why  the  piety  of  his  grandchildren  searches 
the  church-yard  in  vain  for  a  sign,  a  cross,  a  stone,  to 
distinguish  him  from  the  crowd  of  dead  ?  Why,  instead 
of  having  rose-trees  growing  on  his  grave,  does  the  over- 
worked horse  of  the  parish  -priest  eat  away  the  few  wild 
flowers  with  which  nature  adorns  it  ?  Then  we  shall  see 
if  he  will  affirm  that  it  is  virtue  which  incites  part  of  the 
human  race  to  smite  the  other  part  with  the  sword ;  vir- 


Despair.  279 

tue,  to  persecute  the  innocent  because  they  are  weak  ;  to 
look  upon  their  weakness,  consequent  upon  their  inno- 
cence, as  a  crime,  and  punish  and  scorn  it.  Virtue, — ava- 
ricious rapine,  terrible  conflagrations,  base  crimes  !  Vir- 
tue, that  the  husbandman,  driven  out  by  soldiery,  should 
be  compelled  to  flee  with  his  family,  bearing  one  child  in 
his  arms  and  leading1' another  by  the  hand,  while  his  wife 
supports  the  daughter,  their  pride  in  the  smiling  days  of 
peace  (for  a  mother's  pride  is  in  her  beautiful  children), 
but  for  whom,  now  overwhelmed  with  misfortune,  she 
prays  for  death,  from  the  mercy  of  the  Lord  !  Wretched 
man  !  his  road  leads  to  the  mountain  ; .  those  precipitous 
cliffs  promise  nothing  but  the  labor  of  climbing  'them  ; 
there  he  may  find  an  asylum,  for  there  there  is  no 
booty.  Half-way  up  the  ascent,  he  turns  to  see  once 
more  the  cottage,  dear  by  so  many  memories  of  love, 
— dear  also  by  memories  of  sorrow.  Alas  !  it  is  no 
longer  to  be  seen  ;  bitter  tears  fall  from  his  eyes,  he 
groans  deeply,  but  the  groan  and  the  tear  are  not  for 
his  burnt  home,  his  ruined  harvest,  his  possessions,  ob- 
tained with  difficulty  and  long  toil,  now  in  one  short 
hour  destroyed.  He  mourns  for  his  native  air ;  for 
the  place  where  first  the  beloved  maiden,  suffused  with 
modest  blushes,  told  him  that  he  did  not  love  in  vain  ; 
where  he  was  first  saluted  by  the  name  of  father. 
He  mourns  for  his  parents'  ashes  ; — his  timid  thought, 
glancing  forward  to  future  years,  does  not  fear  the  bitter- 
ness of  begging  of  the  stranger  for  bread  which  will  be 
refused,  nor  of  hearing  added  to  the  refusal  the  sharp 
words  of  a  heart  which  alleges  vice  as  a  pretext  for  not 
being  moved  to  pity ; — it  fears  only  the  image  of  his 
grandchildren,  who,  hardly  able  to  lisp  their  questions, 
will  say  to  him,  "  Lead  us  where  your  father  sleeps." 
What  can  he  reply  ?  "I  have  deserted  him  !  "  The  re- 
proach of  undutifulness  rends  his  heart;  can  he  complain 
if  they  abandon  him  alive,  he  who  abandoned  his  father 
dead  ?  Living  or  dead,  is  the  head  of  a  father  less 
sacred?  He  turns,  hastens  along,  raises  his  eyes  to- 
wards the  mountain-top,  eager  to  place  the  rock  between 
himself  and  the  sight  and  thought  of  such  misery.  And 


280  Despair. 

if  such  oppression  is  not  virtue,  why  do  those  who  hold 
the  empire  of  fame  clothe  it  with  the  brilliancy  of  song, 
or  send  it  down  to  posterity  with  the  monument  of  his- 
tory ?  Why  in  your  halls,  on  your  armor,  even  upon 
your  breasts,  do  I  see  only  images  of  the  latest  con- 
queror ?  Oh,  men  have  become  so  cowardly,  that  they 
have  made  a  god  of  violence,  or — and  perhaps  this  is 
more  true — -they  have  never  known  what  virtue  i-. 

Manfred  was  not  virtuous, — he  was  great.  Excluded 
by  his  father's  crime  from  the  inheritance  of  power,  he 
made  its  acquisition  the  object  of  his  every  hope.  Be- 
tween him  and  the  sceptre  stood  four  lives,  all  sacred. 
He  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  seized  it.  What  were 
the  arguments  which  the  ambitious  one  employed  ?  The 
shadow  of  the  throne  conceals  them,  but  they  stand  like 
enemies  drawn  up  in  battle  array  before  his  soul  and  be- 
fore God.  He  destroyed  his  enemies,  first  by  fraud, 
then  by  victory  ;  and  after  debasing  them  by  bribery,  he 
slew  them  with  the  sword.  Trusting  in  the  destiny  which 
led  him  on,  he  overruled  fortune  and  events.  Not  satis- 
fied with  the  crown  of  Naples,  he  looked  upon  Italy,  saw 
her  divided,  and  formed  the  design  of  bringing  her  under 

o  o      o 

his  sole  command.  Penetrating  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
future,  he  beheld  her  the  prey  of  the  foreigner,  and  deter- 
mined to  prevent  such  a  consummation  ;  nor,  since  Alaric 
had  devastated  the  beautiful  country,  had  any  one  but 
himself  seemed  chosen  by  Heaven  for  the  vast  enterprise  ; 
in  him  were  wisdom  in  council,  personal  prowess,  a  won- 
derful power  of  conciliating  affection,  and  a  tempering 
mildness,  unknown  to  his  proud  forefathers.  Rome  had 
somewhat  fallen  from  her  power ;  the  Italians  either 
trusted  him,  or  were  but  little  jealous  of  him,  looking  upon 
him  as  their  natural  sovereign,  and  as  one  whose  interests 
were  entirely  separate  from  Germany.  Tuscany  was  Ghi- 
belline,  governed  by  the  wisdom  of  Farinata ;  Lombardy 
mostly  devoted  to  his  name,  through  the  influence  of 
Pelavicino,  Duera,  and  the  arms  of  Giordano  Lancia. 
He  for  the  times,  the  times  for  him  ;  it  may  be  thought 
that  he  would  have  governed  with  absolute  power  ;  per- 
haps, elated  by  success,  with  tyranny  ;  but  the  work  was 


Despair.  281 

to  unite  Italy  :  that  done,  whenever  oppression  was  at- 
tempted by  one  person,  one  single  blow  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  destroy  it ;  and  if  every  age  does  not  produce 
one  wise  man,  every  one  can  count  many  desperate  ones. 

Alone,  in  the  vast  hall  adorned  with  the  portraits  of  his 
ancestors,  upon  a  couch  of  Moorish  workmanship,  sat 
Manfred,  his  face  buried  in  the  pillows  ;  save  for  a  gasp- 
ing sob,  which  from  time  to  time  shook  his  frame,  he 
'might  have  seemed  asleep.  We  know  not  what  thoughts 
were  passing  through  his  mind,  but  they  must  have  been 
such  as  bring  anguish,  even  upon  the  softest  pillow.  He 
rose  hastily,  took  two  steps  forward  and  stopped,  resting 
his  right  hand  upon  the  table  for  support,  his  eyes  motion- 
less and  fixed  upon  the  ground,  his  lips  quivering;  the 
blood  ebbed  and  flowed  upon  his  face  like  the  waves  of 
the  sea,  now  flushing  in  crimson,  now  leaving  it  perfectly 
pallid.  He  turns  with  a  start,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  that 
part  of  the  room  which  the  rays  of  the  silver  lamp  upon 
the  table  hardly  reach,  and  seems  about  to  flee  ;  sum- 
moning up  all  his  courage,  he  advances, — stops, — retreats 
a  step, — then  rushes  desperately  forward,  and  with 
trembling  hands  touches  the  cause  of  his  terror.  To  his 
heated  fancy,  the  insufficient  light  changes  every  object 
to  images  which  he  cannot  bear.  Finally,  he  raises  the 
lamp  to  blow  it  out,  but  in  the  very  act  his  restless  glance 
falls  upon  some  new  object  which  thrills  him  with  horror. 
He  extends  the  hand  which  holds  the  lamp,  advances  it 
to  the  wall, — it  is  a  sword  which  is  hanging  there.  He 
sighs,  again  raises  the  light  towards  his  mouth,  looks 
again  and  again  round  the  room,  then  with  a  great  effort 
blows  upon  the  light,  and  it  is  dark.  Through  the  dark- 
ness sounds  his  rapid,  excited,  irregular  step. 

We  know  not  whether  it  is  so  elsewhere,  but  in  Italy  it 
certainly  happens  that  a  storm  often  recurs  for  several 
days  at  a  particular  time,  until  it  ceases  entirely.  So  now, 
as  on  the  previous  evening,  the  distant  thunder  begins  to 
sound,  and  the  lightning  to  flash  with  ever  increasing  fury. 
"  The  hour  approaches  !  "  murmurs  Manfred.  The  wild 
south  wind  rises,  the  full  force  of  the  storm  bursts  over 
the  building,  shaking  it  and  seeming  about  to  shatter  it. 


282  Despair. 

He  listens  to  the  distant  gusts  that  make  the  doors 
and  casements  rattle  ;  the  hail  strikes  sharply  upon  the 
windows,  as  if  it  would  break  them,  or  driving  them  from 
their  frames,  carry  them  Heaven  knows  where.  Holy 
Mary  !  it  seems  like  the  day  of  judgment !  Why  does 
Manfred  traverse  the  room  with  trembling  steps  ?  Does 
he  fear  that  that  convulsion  of  the  elements  is  a  war  that 
nature  has  declared  against  him  ?  What  is  he  muttering 
between  his  teeth  ?  Saints  of  Paradise  !  he  is  invoking 
the  powers  of  darkness.  The  storm  still  rages  ;  he  makes 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  hesitatingly  looks  up.  A  flash 
of  lightning  shows  him  that  he  has  unconsciously  directed 
his  glance  towards  the  portrait  of  his  father  Frederick  ; 
that  red  glare  appears  to  animate  it  for  a  moment  with 
life — the  picture  certainly  rolls  its  bloodshot  eyes,  and 
frames  with  its  lips  words  of  fire.  Woe  to  Manfred  if  that 
sight  had  lasted  longer  than  the  lightning  flash  !  His 
brain  would  have  given  way,  his  heart  burst.  The  dark- 
ness hides  the  cause  of  his  terror;  the  thunder  breaks 
immediately  with  a  tremendous  crash,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  reverberation  Manfred  shouts,  "  The  hour  is 
past !  "  Unable  longer  to  support  himself,  almost  faint- 
ing, staggering  like  a  drunken  man,  he  went  towards  the 
couch,  and  as  he  sank  down  upon  it,  his  right  hand  struck 
upon  the  royal  crown,  from  which  he  hastily  withdrew  it,  as 
if  he  had  touched  a  burning  coal ;  and  truly  the  sensation 
must  have  been  such,  for  he  cried,  "  It  burns."  Then, 
like  one  laboring  up  a  steep  mountain-path,  he  sighed 
heavily  and  often.  A  cold  perspiration  poured  down  his 
cheeks. 

Borne  by  the  wind,  now  swelling  as  it  rose  and  now 
dying  away  with  it,  bringing  comfort,  even  pleasure,  to 
the  afflicted  one,  came  the  sweet  sounds  of  a  soft  prelude 
upon  the  lute.  At  first,  groaning  under  the  weight  of  his 
mental  suffering,  he  gave  no  heed  ;  but  when  there  was 
added  to  it  a  voice  melodious  with  secret  sadness — a  voice 
which,  like  the  lightning's  flash,  penetrated,  aroused  and 
excited,  so  many  pleasant  memories  and  sweet  tenderness 
stole  softly  into  Manfred's  heart,  that  he  slowly  bowed  his 
head  upon  his  hands  and  wept.  They  were  tears  such  as 


Despair.  283 

furrow  the  cheek,  such  as  are  like  drops  of  oil  upon  red- 
hot  iron, — but  he  wept.  Thinking  that  nothing  else  could 
console  him  so  much  as  hearing  more  plainly  the  voice 
which  had  so  soothed  him,  he  rose,  and  leaving  the  room, 
went  in  the  direction  of  the  sound. 

Queen  Elena,  having  dismissed  all  her  maidens,  had 
retired  to  her  private  apartments  with  her  children,  Yole 
and  Manfredino ;  there  they  had  united  in  prayer  to  the 
Lord  for  pardon  and  peace.  Just  as  the  prayer  was 
concluded,  the  storm  burst.  Elena  made  as  light  as  she 
could  of  the  sinister  omen,  and  by  her  cheerful  looks  and 
words  encouraged  Yole,  who  clung  to  her,  and  Man- 
fredino, who,  seated  upon  a  footstool  at  her  feet,  had 
taken  one  of  her  hands,  and  put  it  before  his  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  lightning. 

"  Courage,  my  children,"  said  the  queen;  "is  this  the 
first  storm  you  ever  heard  ?  Is  such  terror  becoming  in 
the  children  of  a  king  ?  " 

"What,  my  mother?"  replied  Yole;  "should  not  even 
kings  tremble  before  God?" 

"  They  should,  but  it  would  be  too  much,  my  daughter. 
to  attribute  every  tempest  to  the  anger  of  Heaven." 

"  Did  you  notice,  mother,  that  we  had  hardly  uttered 
the  last  word  of  our  prayer  when  the  thunder  crashed?" 

"  I  did  not  observe  it,  for  my  mind  was  absorbed  in  the 
thoughts  of  paradise." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  added  Yole,  lowering  her  voice, 
and  speaking  in  her  mother's  ear,  "  it  seems  as  if  God  had 
abandoned  us." 

"  My  daughter,"  replied  Elena,  in  a  tone  of  affection- 
ate reproof,  "  not  even  the  saints  have  penetrated  the  se- 
crets of  the  Eternal  ;  if  the  prophets  knew  them,  it  was 
because  He  Himself  revealed  them  to  their  spirits, — not 
otherwise.  Rejoice  then  at  affliction  sent  by  the  Lord, — 
He  wishes  to  prove  us,  and  they  who  are  proved  are 
among  the  number  of  the  elect.  Do  you  remember,  my 
dear  child,  St.  Ambrose  of  Milan,  who,  coming  to  Mal- 
mantile,  asked  the  host  concerning  his  worldly  affairs,  and 
receiving  the  reply  :  '  I  am  rich,  in  good  health,  have  a 
handsome  wife,  a  fine  family,  am  esteemed,  honored  and 


284  Despair. 

revered  by  all,  have  never  known  what  it  was  to  be  ill  or 
sad,  but  always  have  lived  and  still  live  contented  and 
happy,'  ordered  his  servants  to  saddle  the  horses,  say- 
ing, '  God  is  not  in  this  place,  nor  with  this  man,  for  He 
has  granted  him  too  much  happiness.'  *  And  then  what 
does  King  David  say  ?  '  Many  are  the  afflictions  of  the 
righteous,  but  the  Lord  delivereth  him  out  of  them  all.' 
But  let  us  turn  our  thoughts  from  such  mournful  con- 
templations. The  angels  taught  harmony  to  mortals  to 
.soothe  their  sorrows."  So  saying,  she  drew  away  the 
hand  that  Manfredino  held,  and  gently  patting  his  cheek, 
ordered  :  "  Go,  Manfredino,  and  bring  me  the  lute  which 
is  upon  that  table." 

The  boy  raised  his  eyes,  and  hesitatingly  looked  at 
her. 

"  Go,  Manfredino,"  insisted  the  noble  Elena  ;  "  are  you 
perchance  afraid  ?  " 

The  boy  went  with  brave  steps  to  the  table,  upon  which 
stood  several  instruments,  took  the  lute,  and  handing  it 
to  the  queen,  said,  "  Here,  mamma,  is  the  lute." 

"Thanks,  my  son." 

"Oh!  is  there  need  of  thanks  for  such  things, 
mamma  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  If  it  was  your  duty  to  obey  me,  it  was 
courtesy  in  me  to  thank  you." 

"Now,  since  you  are  so  good,  will  you  grant  me  a 
favor?" 

"What  favor?" 

"  Promise  me  first  that  you  will  grant  it." 

"  Has  Queen  Elena  ever  refused  her  children  when 
they  have  asked  for  anything  worthy  ?  " 

"  Then  you  have  granted  me  that  you  will  play  the  bal- 
lad of  Lucia,  and  Yole  will  sing  it ;  it  is  so  beautiful,  the 
ballad  of  Lucia,  that,  when  I  hear  it,  tears  come  to  my 
eyes.  Why  is  it,  mamma,  that  it  makes  me  cry  ?  " 

The  queen  ran.  over  with  skilful  fingers  the  chords  of 
her  lute,  drawing  forth  most  sweet  accords,  so  as  to  avoid 
replying  to  him  ;  but  she  could  not  help  murmuring  to  her- 

*  PASSAVANTI,  Specchio  dclla  Vera  Penitenza. 


Despair.  285 

self:  "Alas!  sorrow  has  become  the  inheritance  of  the 
house  of  Manfred ;  even  those  who  know  not  what  it  is, 
love  sorrow  ;  their  soul  forebodes  the  suffering  that  is  to 
come."  And  continuing  her  prelude  : 

"  Yole,  my  daughter,"  she  said,  "  sing  the  ballad  of 
Lucia." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  how  can  I  ?  my  voice  is  so  hoarse  .  .  ." 

"  From  sighing  ?  and  is  it  not  a  sorrowful  ballad  that 
you  are  to  sing?  it  will  better  suit  your  subject." 

Without  saying  more,  they  began  to  bring  to  a  unison 
the  voice  and  the  lute.  There  arose  a  soft  insisting 
sound  on  the  same  note,  of  that  kind  which  the  Greeks 
call  melody.  It  moved  the  soul  of  the  listeners  as  does 
the  joyful  glittering  of  the  light  on  the  surface  of  the 
waters  of  a  lake,  a  peaceful  rest,  an  inspired  sweetness 
...  fool !  what  mortal  language  is  able  to  reveal  the 
mysteries  of  harmony  ? 

A  door  opens  ;  the  three  fixed  their  eyes  on  that  point. 
Manfred,  contrary  to  his  habit,  for  he  always  wore  green 
garments,  was  dressed  in  deep  black,  so  that  his  body 
was  hardiy  visible  through  the  open  door.  His  face  was 
pale  and  wan,  his  hair  standing  on  end,  his  eyes  staring 
fixed,  as  a  man  just  awakened  from  a  frightful  dream. 
They  screamed,  terror-struck,  and  fearing  that  something 
"dreadful  had  happened  to  him,  his  children  rushed  towards 
him. 

"I  will  defend  myself!"  exclaimed  Manfred,  carrying 
his  hand  to  his  belt ;  "you  wish  to  murder  your  father, 
as  .  .  . — it  becomes  you  to  condemn  me  ?  crime  is  not 
obliterated  by  crime  : — will  revenge  be  eternal  in  my 
house  ?  " 

"  Father  !  husband  !  father  !  " 

Indeed,  those  names  must  strike  powerfully  on  the 
heart  of  man,  for  they  were  able  to  recall  Manfred  from 
his  terror,  and  make  him  rejoice  in  the  sight  of  his  family. 
Manfredino  embraced  his  knees ;  Yole  kneeling  seized 
his  hand,  and  impressed  upon  it  tender  kisses;  Queen 
Elena  extending  her  arms  invited  him  as  to  a  safe  refuge  ; 
overcome  by  the  fulness  of  his  emotion,  he  kissed  his 


286  Despair. 

son,  raised  and  kissed  Yole,  and  flew  to  the  arms  of  his 
beloved  wife. 

Having  drank  from  the  cup  of  family  joy,  Manfred 
said:  "And  I  have  faith  that  destiny  sends  sorrow  to 
me,  in  order  that  I  may  intoxicate  myself  in  the  sweet- 
ness of  your  kisses,  my  beloved  ones ;  and  if  it  is  so,  I 
have  Cause  to  bless  it,  rather  than  complain.  But  here, 
if  I  mistake  not,  I  heard  singing.  Ah  !  share  with  me 
your  pleasures  :  I  came  desirous  of  harmony ;  it  does  my 
spirit  good." 

Queen  Elena  and  Yole  did  not  reply,  except  by  one  re- 
suming her  lute  and  the  other  repeating  in  undertone  the 
notes  of  the  song.  When  they  were  in  accord,  Yole  be- 
gan thus  : 

"  O  listening  maidens,  silent  be, 

But  let  your  pitying  teardrops  run, 
To  hear  ray  song  of  misery  ; 
The  mournful  ballad  is  begun. 

In  days  of  yore  a  cavalier, 

Led  on  by  chance  or  fancy's  spell, 
A  convent's  windows  wandered  near  ; 

Deep  in  his  soul  sweet  music  fell. 

He  raised  his  head,  and  there  alone, 

Lucia,  blooming  maiden,  knelt ; 
Serene  in  heavenly  rays  she  shone, 

The  knight  love's  tender  influence  felt. 

No  more  he  saw  her,  but  in  vain 

Oft  lingered  near  that  lovely  spot ; 
When  hope's  last  breath  had  died  in  pain, 

He  welcomed  a  crusader's  lot. 

He  fought  for  Christ  in  Palestine, 
And  many  a  valiant  deed  had  shown  ; 

At  length,  betrayed  by  fate,  must  pine, 
In  cruel  chains,  in  dungeons  lone. 

The  long-desired  maiden's  name, 

As  death  drew  near,  he  called  once  more ; 

Soft  slumber  to  his  eyelids  came, 

He  woke  and  found  his  pains  were  o'er. 


Despair.  287 

In  brightly  shining  garments  clad, 

There  at  his  feet  Lucia  stood  ; 
Was  it  a  living  form  she  had  ? 

For  from  her  cheek  had  fled  the  blood." 

'  Lightly  on  angel  wings  I  come, 

From  near  God's  throne  to  succor  thee. 
Patient,  within  thy  native  home, 

Live,  till  heaven's  kiss  shall  set  thee  free.' 

O  listening  maidens,  silent  be, 

But  let  your  pitying  teardrops  run  ; 
No  more  I  sing  of  misery  ; 

The  mournful  ballad  now  is  done."  * 

M.  G.  M. 

Manfredino,  who  at  the  beginning  of  the  song  had 
seated  himself  again  on  his  stool,  and  listened  with  elbows 
on  his  knees  supporting  his  chin,  saw  his  father,  who,  rapt 
with  the  sweetness  of  the  song,  softly  approached  his 
daughter,  placed  an  arm  over  her  shoulder,  and  leaned 
his  forehead  on  it;  his  lips  curved  into  a  smile,  his  brow 
cleared.  That  expression,  though,  ceased  with  the  song, 
the  smile  disappeared,  his  brow  contracted  ;  he  carried 
his  hand  to  his  heart,  as  if  something  had  escaped  from 
it,  then  he  exclaimed  :  "  Listen  to  me  now."  He  went 
resolutely  towards  the  table,  took  a  harp,  made  in  the 
shape  of  a  triangle,  and  began  to  play  ;  he  sought  with 
very  rapid  motion  now  the  grave,  now  the  acute  chords  ; 

*  This  story  of  Lucia  is  related  by  Ghirardacci  in  his  Stories  of 
Bologna.  Lucia,  a  most  beauteous  maiden,  had  become  a  nun  ;  one 
day  a  Eolognese  youth,  seeing  her  behind  the  gratings  where  she  was 
listening  to  mass,  fell  desperately  in  love  with  her.  The  modest 
maiden,  noticing  the  love  of  the  youth,  never  appeared  again  at  the 
gratings  ;  the  youth,  in  despair,  went  to  fight  with  the  Crusaders  in 
Palestine,  where,  taken  prisoner,  and  condemned  to  die,  he  invoked 
the  beloved  maiden  ;  he  fell  asleep,  and  at  his  awaking  he  found 
himself  at  Bologna,  in  the  church  of  the  convent  where  dwelt  Lucia, 
and  she  was  at  his  side  ;  the  youth  asked  her  whether  she  was  alive, 
and  she  replied,  yes,  but  of  the  true  life.  She  then  ordered  him  to 
deposit  his  weapons  on  her  tomb,  and  thank  the  most  Blessed  Virgin 
for  the  grace  which  he  had  received.  The  miracle  happened  in 


288  Despair. 

the  middle  ones  that  sweeten  and  soften  the  passages  he 
never  touched  ;  it  was  a  dissonance  like  the  roaring 
of  wild  beasts,  the  wailing  of  suffering  persons — it  tore 
the  ears ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  strings  would  snap  at  the 
stroke  of  his  fingers ;  you  might  fear  at  every  moment 
the  instrument  would  coruscate  and  send  forth  sparks  ; 
and  certainly  art  did  not  guide  his  quick  hand,  but  rather 
a  convulsive  motion.  At  the  moment  when  that  fierce 
harmony  increased  in  force,  Manfred  with  a  full  voice 
began  : 

"  Of  treachery,  woe  and  slaughter  I  will  sing  in  doleful  verse, 
While  heaven  and  nature  shudder  at  the  story  I  rehearse.    . 

On  a  gloomy  skull  harsh-smiting  stood  an  angry  cavalier ; 
A  serpent,  issuing  from  it,  hissed  through  the  meadow  near. 

Speak,  cursed  spirit !  speak,  again  the  knight  persistent  cried : 
At  last  from  out  the  fleshless  jaws  a  hollow  voice  replied  : 

I  am  thy  ancestor,  it  said,  and  of  old  Alfred's  race, 

I  had  a  brother,  brave  in  fight,  and  famous  in  the  chase, 

Endowed  with  wondrous  strength  of  limb,  and  beautiful  to  see, 
As  is  the  vision  of  the  soul's  delirious  fantasy. 

A  damsel  to  our  castle  came,  trembling  in  fear  and  flight ; 
My  father  to  his  eldest  son  would  wed  the  maiden  bright. 

But  unto  me  the  wayward  one  her  sudden  passion  told, 

And  dost  thou  love  me  too  ?  she  cried ;  can'st  thou  indeed  be  bold  ? 

Then  take  this  vial,  it  can  change  our  woful  lot  to  bliss. 

But  lady,  what  is  this  strange  draught  ?     A  deadly  poison  'tis. 

And  should  they  drink  who  cross  our  love,  they'll  not  molest  us  more. 
Then  o'er  the  horrid  banquet  a  spousal  oath  we  swore. 

I  was  a  parricide,  half  blind  with  horror  and  affright, 
Trembled  the  roof  above  us,  quenched  was  the  torches'  light. 

But  she  was  mine.  To  depths  of  hell  we  dragged  each  other  down ; 
United  still,  in  endless  flames  our  fearful  crimes  we  own. 

And  lest  the  traveller  on  the  plain  should  climb  the  mountain's  crest, 
And  my  deserted  castle  seek  for  shelter  and  for  rest, 

The  pious  herdsman  points  it  our,  and  tells  my  tale  of  shame, 
But  first  devoutly  crosses  him,  and  breathes  the  holy  name. 


Despair.  289 

My  memory  still  renews  its  blight,  no  rest  my  spirit  knows, 
My  homeless  head  from  rock  to  rock  the  windy  tempest  throws. 

Of  treachery,  woe  and  slaughter  I  have  sung  in  doleful  verse, 
And  I  who  wrought  them  suffer  still,  'neath  God  and  nature's  curse." 

M.  G.   M. 

The  last  verse  of  the  ballad  was  sung  in  such  a  low 
voice,  that  no  one  of  the  listeners  was  able  to  hear  it. 
The  harp  fell  from  the  hands  of  Manfred,  and  striking 
on  the  pavement,  was  broken  ;  he,  overcome  by  the  effort, 
fell  upon  a  chair.  His  children,  his  wife,  ran  to  him,  and 
overwhelmed  him  with  sweet  caresses  ;  no  one,  though, 
dared  to  console  him  with  words  ;  perhaps  a  secret  feel- 
ing warned  them  that  his  sufferings  were  beyond  conso- 
lation. A  solemn  silence  ensued. 

A  light  knock  at  the  door  aroused  them  from  that  sor- 
rowful state.  Manfred,  jealous  of  his  family's  secrets, 
ordered  them  to  draw  aside,  passed  his  hand  over  his 
brow  as  if  to  remove  every  trace  of  suffering,  and  thus 
composed  to  a  royal  attitude,  said  with  a  firm  voice, 
"  Come  in." 


290 


The  Surprise. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  SURPRISE. 

— E  fino  a  quando  il  giogo 
Soffrirem  di.  un  tiranno  ? — 

Sappiasi  al  fine 

Che  voi  suo  valor  siete,  e  sua  fortuna, 
E  che,  sdegnati  voi,  Giovanni  e  un  vinto 

GIOVANNI  DI  GISCALA,  Tragedia 

.  .  .  How  long  shall  we 

A  tyrant's  yoke  endure  ? — Now  must  he  know 
That  you  his  valor  are,  and  you  his  fortune, 
And  John  without  your  aid  is  overcome. 

M.  G.M. 

»  t 

OU  here,  Alberico  ? "  said  Manfred,  perceiving 
the  captain  of  the  guard,  who,  putting  his  head 
through  the  half-opened  door,  seemed  desirous 
of  a  new  summons  to  enter.     "  Come  in,  Sir 
Alberico."'  , 

"  My  king  ! "  replied  the  captain,  advancing  half-way 
into  the  hall,  where,  bending  low,  he  saluted  in  turn  the 
royal  family. 

"What  brings  you  here,  Alberico?  Speak;"  and 
Manfred  said  these  words  in  a  friendly  tone,  for  the  times 
looked  threatening,  and  he  felt,  more  than  ever,  the  ne- 
cessity of  keeping  his  officers  faithful. 

"  My  king,  a  knight  has  come  to  the  palace  who  de- 
Tnands  with  great  earnestness  permission  to  speak  to  y\>ur 
Serene  Highness.*  I  told  him  that  it  was  not  conven- 
ient, but  he  insisted,  alleging  it  to  be  a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

"  His  name  ?  " 

"  He  was  not  willing  to  give  it,  neither  would  he  show 


*  The  titles  "  Your  Majesty,"  "  Sire,"  were  first  used  by  kings, 
300  years  after  the  epoch  of  this  story,  by  Charles  the  Fifth  of 
Spain. 


The  Surprise.  291 

his  face ;  besides,  he  wears   foreign   armor,   and   keeps 
his  visor  down  ;  but  he  carries  no  deadly  weapons." 

"  Who  asked  you  if  he  had  deadly  weapons?  Where 
is  he  ?  " 

"  I  introduced  him  into  my  own  apartment,  that  he 
might  not  be  seen." 

"  Elena,  Yole,  Manfredino,  adieu.  You  see  what  is 
the  glory  of  a  throne, — it  asks  even  those  few  happy  mo- 
ments which  every  man  finds  in  the  bosom  of  his  family ; 
but  it  is  a  great  weight  which  destiny  has  imposed  upon 
our  shoulders,  and  w.hich  we  must  bear  till  death.  Be  of 
good  cheer  ;  in  a  short  time  we  hope  to  return  to  your 
arms.  Come,  Sir  Alberico." 

Perhaps  in  speaking  thus  Manfred  disguised  his  real 
feelings.  Perhaps  he  spoke  sincerely,  since  it  is  human 
nature,  that  the  object  attained,  deprived  of  desire  and 
hope,  falls  short  of  the  expectation,  and  the  labor  of  the 
attainment  is  not  compensated  by  the  joy  of  the  acqui- 
sition. 

Reaching  the  door  of  the  captain's  room,  Manfred 
commanded  him  to  stand  without  and  watch  to  prevent 
the  entrance  of  any  one.  He  advanced  quietly.  A 
knight  of  noble  presence,  his  visor  down,  leaning  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair,  appeared  buried  in  thought.  Roused 
by  the  noise  of  footsteps,  he  looked  up  and  saw  Manfred  ; 
he  hesitated  at  first,  as  if  undecided.  At  last,  taking  cour- 
age, he  advanced  hastily,  and  bending  upon  one  knee, 
said  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  My  king  !  " 

"  Rise,  Sir  Knight,  rise  ;  will  you  permit  us  to  know 
who  thus  presents  himself  before  us  ?  May  we  also 
know  to  what  we  must  attribute  the  pleasure  of  listening 
to  you  ?  " 

"  My  king,  if  your  well-known  generosity  does  not 
make  me  too  bold,  I  would  beg  you  to  allow  me  to  re- 
main unknown.  What  I  have  to  tell  you  is  neither  ser- 
vice nor  favor,  but  that  which  the  law  commands ;  and 
yet  I  know  that  you  will  offer  me  a  recompense  ;  and 
should  it  please  you  so  to  do,  let  me  take  it  in  advance, 
by  being  permitted  to  remain  with  my  visor  down." 

Manfred  thought   for  a  moment,  and  then   replied  : 


292  The  Surprise. 

"Be  it  as  you  wish  ;  you  have  come  into  our  presence 
unarmed,  which  you  need  not  have  done.  May  no  one 
ever  repent  of  having  trusted  to  the  honor  of  a  Swabian." 

"  Many  thanks  ! "  replied  the  knight,  touching  his 
heart ;  then  in  a  louder  voice  he  added :  "  My  King,  you 
are  betrayed." 

"  We  know  this,  Sir  Knight." 

"  What !  Do  you  know  who  are  conspiring  against 
the  throne  ?  " 

"  We  know  that  our  subjects  are  men,  and  that  we  have 
always  endeavored  to  make  them  glorious." 

"  Not  all  would  betray  you,  and  many  would  give  their 
lives  for  you." 

"  The  hour  of  trial  has  not  yet  come." 

"  It  will  come." 

"  Then  we  shall  see  the  faith,  now  we  see  the  treason. 
Sir  Knight,  have  you  nothing  more  to  tell  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed." 

"  Speak." 

"  In  your  kingdom,  in  this  city  even,  at  this  very  mo- 
ment, the  greater  number  of  the  Neapolitan  barons  are 
plotting  against  your  life." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?     Take  care  .  .  ." 

"  Are  conspiring  against  your  life." 

"  It  is  not  possible." 

"  May  falsehood  be  spoken  in  a  king's  presence?" 

"  How  can  you  prove  the  accusation  ?  " 

"  Easily,  thank  GOD." 

"  How  then  ?  " 

"  By  leading  your  Serene  Highness  this  very  moment 
to  the  place  of  meeting." 

"  Truly  ?  " 

"  Come." 

"  Cowards  !  Fools  !  "  cried  Manfred,  striking  the  table 
heavily.  "  They  think  to  escape  the  name  of  cowards 
by  the  deeds  of  traitors ;  the,)'  mean  to  ruin  us  at  any 
sacrifice,  and  they  only  ruin  themselves.  Then  in  the 
depths  of  misery  they  will  regret  our  loss,  when  we  shall 
be  no  more ; — the  usual  reward  of  the  good  is  to  be 
hated  in  life,  and  mourned  after  death.  Indeed  we  are 


The  Surprise.  293 

sorry  for  them  !  Oh,  my  great  designs  !  Oh,  my  hopes  ! 
Oh,  my  vain  vigils  of  thought !  Truly,  Italy  seemed 
dead,  yet  I  trusted  to  find  at  least  a  sparlc  of  life  pre- 
served in  her  heart.  I  dared  to  stretch  forth  my  hand  to 
ascertain  if  it  were  so ;  and  have  withdrawn  it  with  the 
sad  certainty  that  she  has  long  been  frozen  in  the  ice  of 
death.  Italy  is  dead,  dead  forever. — Captain  !  Captain  ! 
Let  my  esquires  armed  and  mounted  be  in  the  court-yard 
ready  to  escort  me ;  go,  hasten,  and  be  discreet." 

While  these  events  were  transpiring  in  the  royal  palace 
of  Manfred,  Count  Rinaldo  di  Caserta,  at  a  nocturnal 
meeting  of  all  the  conspiring  barons,  was  explaining  to 
them  with  admirable  clearness  the  plans  which  had  so 
far  terminated  prosperously,  and  others  which  he  designed 
to  undertake  for  the  accomplishment  of  the  desired  end. 
Ail  that  we  have  before  related  of  Count  della  Cerra 
was  fully  known  to  the  Count  di  Caserta,  but  either  be- 
cause he  was  more  closely  occupied  than  before  near 
Manfred,  or  by  his  haughty  disposition  which  detested 
those  minutiae  which  every  undertaking,  however  great  it 
may  be,  involves,  he  left  all  the  trouble  to  della  Cerra.  The 
reader  must  sharpen  his  intellect  to  distinguish  between 
the  dispositions  of  these  two  counts,  for  Rinaldo  di  Aquino 
was  a  noble  knight,  and  a  courteous  doer  of  all  honorable 
deeds  ;  a  terrible  thirst  for  vengeance  had  perverted  his 
good  qualities.  Carried  away  by  the  impetus  of  his  pas- 
sions, more  than  by  deliberate  purpose,  he  had  tasted  the 
fruit  of  crime,  and  he  had  now  entered  upon  a  rough 
path,  which  he  knew  not  how  to  abandon  ;  nor,  indeed, 
did  he  wish  to  do  so,  for  it  was  the  only  one  that  could 
lead  him  to  his  object.  The  Count  della  Cerra  had 
come  into  the  world  with  the  disposition  of  Truffaldino  ; 
not  only  did  he  perform  no  honest  deeds  himself,  but  he 
could  not  understand  them  in  others,  and  charged  with 
folly  all  who  did  differently  from  himself.  He  loved  no 
one  ;  nor  did  he  hate  any  one  in  particular.  He  hated 
all ;  he  had  long  served  di  Caserta,  because  he  had  found 
his  advantage  in  so  doing,  but  was  ready  to  betray  him, 
should  that  advantage  cease,  or  if  some  greater  good 
could  thus  be  gained.  He  justified  treason  on  these 


294  The  Surprise. 

grounds.  When  two  men — so  he  reasoned — make  a 
compact,  it  is  certain  that  each  one  promises  to  the  other 
such  advantages,  as  alone,  or  accompanied  by  any  other 
man,  he  could  not  obtain  ;  but  if  one  side  ceases  to  present 
these  advantages,  and  is  consequently  deserted  by  the 
other,  the  want  of  faith  is  not  in  the  latter,  but  in  the 
former,  who  has  failed  in  the  condition  of  mutual  useful- 
ness— the  principal  condition  of  the  first  agreement.  In 
short,  not  to  delay  any  longer,  for  the  hour  is  late,  and 
the  way  long,  no  head  was  ever  baptized  in  this  world  that 
would  do  more  honor  to  the  noose  than  his. 

Rinaldo,  continuing  his  oration,  said  to  those  present : 
"  Behold,  Providence  sends  you  the  destined  moment,  so 
long  desired  by  you*,  and  hastened  by  so  many  vows  ;  we 
are  now  here  to  see  what  we  shall  do.  Already  the  vic- 
torious armies  of  Charles  are  spread  throughout  the 
country  ;  they  are  trying  to  cross  over  the  Garigliano  to 
Castelluccio  and  Cepperano  ;  already  are  they  prepared 
to  take  Gaeta  by  storm-;  the  pope's  blessing,  the  valor 
which  springs  from  a  good  cause,  and  the  voice  of  the 
people,  are  with  them  ;  with  Manfred  are  terror  and  fear. 
Why  do  we  then  wait  to  rebel  ?  We  have  already  delayed 
longer  than  is  prudent.  Do  we  wish  Charles  to  reach  the 
walls  of  Naples  before  we  assist  him  ?  Which  then  would 
be  greater — the  folly  of  the  count  in  making  us  participa- 
tors of  the  victory,  or  our  imprudence  in  claiming  it ;  I 
cannot  say.  There  is  no  reward  without  some  danger, 
no  guerdon  without  trouble ;  although,  calmly  consider- 
ing the  matter,  it  seems  to  me  that  in  making  some  dem- 
onstration in  favor  of  the  Count  of  Provence,  we  run 
no  danger  of  any  sort ;  not  yet  have  the  armed  troops  of 
Calabria,  of  Apulia,  or  even  those  of  Sicily,  marched  to 
meet  them  ;  let  us  arise,  let  us  break  down  delays,  let  not 
these  forces  be  united  ;  fortune  never  offers  but  one  op- 
portunity, and  you  know,  barons,  that  one  to-day  is  worth 
more  than  two  to-morrows,  and  that  he  who  has  one  op- 
portunity should  not  wait  for  another  ;  let  this  Colossus 
of  clay  fall  beneath  the  curse  of  the  Church,  beneath  the 
fury  of  the  oppressed.  Do  we  then  wish  to  await  the 
worst  outrages,  to  lift  from  our  necks  the  infamous  yoke 


The  Surprise.  295 

of  Manfred  ?  Are  not  our  suppressed  baronial  rights  suf- 
ficient ?  Are  not  the  forced  taxes  ?  Our  despoiled  homes? 
The  contaminated  houses  of  God  ?" 

"  Our  seduced  wives  ?  "  added  a  voice. 

"Who  speaks  of  wives?  What  do  you  mean  by 
wives?"  cried  di  Caserta,  irritated  to  fury. 

"  I  have  said  it  to  add  one  more  wrong  to  those  you 
have  enumerated." 

The  count  changed  color ;  he  fell  back  upon  the  seat 
from  which  he  had  arisen,  to  add  more  force  and  passion 
to  his  oration,  and  although  he  used  every  effort,  was  un- 
able to  proceed ;  he  therefore  commanded  della  Cerra, 
who  was  seated  by  his  side,  to  rule  the  meeting. 

The  old  man,  who  the  evening  before  had  spoken  with 
so  much  wisdom,  without  waiting  for  a  second  invitation, 
rose  to  his  feet,  and  regarding  the  bystanders  with  a  cer- 
tain look  of  superiority,  thus  began  :  "  Since  the  fates 
decree  that  for  a  good  end  an  infamous  expedient  must 
be  adopted,  I  console  myself  with  the  thought  that  public 
virtue  was  always  the  daughter,  rather  than  the  mother,  of 
liberty;  and  as  from  a  fetid  root  spring  fragrant  lilies,  so 
we  may  derive  from  treason  holy  provision  for  the  happy 
state  of  the  people,  for  the  prosperity  of  all.  Now  then, 
as  we  do  not  hate  the  man  himself,  but  the  heavy  yoke 
with  which  he  oppresses  us,  my  advice  would  be,  that  in 
the  execution  of  our  designs,  no  private  hate,  no  particu- 
lar animosity,  should  intervene,  that  our  posterity  may  see 
that  if  we  had  recourse  to  base  means,  it  was  because 
necessity  prevented  us  from  using  generous  ones — and 
necessity  is  esteemed  a  great  promoter  of  bad  deeds ; 
rather,  thinking  better  of  it,  I  trust  it  will  redound  to  our 
praise,  because  we,  striving  to  do  well,  took  no  heed  of 
public  opinion.  Meanwhile  let  us  urge  my  Lord  of  Prov- 
ence to  advance  as  rapidly  as  possible  into  the  heart  of 
the  kingdom  :  and  since  we  are  determined  not  to  obey 
the  commands  of  the  Svvabian,  let  tTs  not  aid  him  with 
our  forces ;  it  would  be  better  not  to  answer  his  sum- 
mons, than  to  desert  him  on  the  field :  the  first  would 
be  culpable,  certainly;  but  the  second  not  only  culpable, 
but  cowardly.  Nor  by  this  do  I  mean  to  say  that  we 


296  The  Surprise. 

must  be  disarmed ;  no,  let  us  rather  collect  our  forces, 
and  form  an  army  which  shall  be  a  curb  to  the  conqueror, 
and  a  guarantee  for  his  promises. — When  we  invite  a 
stranger  into  our  house,  we  should  receive  him  as  a 
friend,  but  always  be  so  prepared  tltat  his  friendly  deport- 
ment towards  us  be  not  merely  voluntary,  but  compulsory ; 
the  power  to  injure  others  with  impunity  is  a  great  incite- 
ment to  injury  ;  and  complaint  of  wrongs,  when  complaint 
is  useless,  is  an  additional  stimulus  to  contempt.  Let  us 
use  the  strength  that  GOD  has  given  us ;  let  Charles  see 
that  although  we  give  ourselves  to  him,  yet  we  need  not 
do  sp  ;  and  if  he  does  not  assure  us,  that  we  can  assure 
ourselves. — You  laugh,  Count  della  Cerra?  Do  I  speak 
like  a  fool  ?  I  have  thought  much,  and  cannot  see  how 
we  can  better  prevent  what  I  spoke  of  the  other  even- 
ing.  ..." 

"  I  laugh,  baron — yes,  and  I  laugh  with  good  cause, 
since  these  precautions  of  yours  are  like  those  of  a  man 
who,  while  the  inside  of  the  house  is  burning,  tries  to  ex- 
tinguish the  fire  by  sprinkling  the  outside  ;  it  is  necessary 
to  destroy  a  part  to  preserve  the  whole ;  it  is  better  to 
lop  off  the  useless  branches  of  a  vigorous  tree,  so  that  it 
may  become  more  fruitful.  What  do  you  mean  to  do 
with  your  armed  preservers  of  order  ?  That  is  what 
causes  my  laughter  ;  nor  is  it  unreasonable,  for  when 
Charles  shall  have  the  treasury  in  his  hands,  and  the  power 
of  sending  to  the  scaffold  whomsoever  he  pleases  to  call 
rebels,  the  means,  in  short,  of  bribery  and  punishment,  do 
you  not  see  that  your  army  will  be  destroyed  in  an  hour  ? 
You  know  that  offering  obstacles  easy  to  overcome  in- 
creases the  boldness  of  him  who  overcomes  them.  Hear 
me  now,  and  say  if  I  counsel  better  than  you.  A  long 
time  ago,  a  vile  crew -of  vassals,  bought  with  ready  money 
from  servitude,  made  themselves  rich  by  our  taxes,  and 
not  to  speak  of  their  insolence  in  not  wishing  to  recog- 
nize feudal  privileges,  think  in  the  simplicity  of  their  hearts 
to  make  themselves  our  equals,  and  dare  even  hope  to 
join  together  with  its  ancient  protectors  in  the  govern- 
ment of  the  kingdom  ;  it  is  necessary  to  draw  some 
blood  from  this  body,  which  every  day  threatens  to  grow 


The  Surprise.  297 

larger.  It  is  better  that  they  should  be  convinced  that  they 
may  change  lords,  not  lordships  ;  that  they  must  serve  us, 
that  they  must  form  a  mass  dead  or  alive,  according  to  our 
commands.  The  means  to  obtain  this,  consists  in  dispos- 
ing them  in  armed  bands,  and  sending  them  in  aid  of  the 
man.  Stimulated,  then,  by  the  flattering  hope  of  a  liberty 
which  they  neither  know  nor  will  ever  be  allowed  to 
know,  let  them  march  cheerfully  to  the  encounter,  to 
slay  and  to  be  slain  ;  do  not  doubt  but  that  French  disci- 
pline will  prevail  over  them,  but  not  without  bloodshed,  of 
course,  and  then  we  shall  have  obtained  two  notable  ad- 
vantages— that  of  being  rid  of  so  dangerous  a  people,  and 
that  of  having  weakened  those  who  wish  to, rule  us.  The 
powerful  aid  of  our  fortresses  shall  remain  entire  to  us, 
and  with  them  the  power  of  dispersing  the  new  lords,  in 
the  same  way  as  the  ancient  ones  will  be  dispersed  ;  the 
end  at  which  we  aim  is  so  glorious,  that  we  need  take  no 
heed  of  the  means  we  use  to  reach  it ;  a  treason  more  or 
less  must  not  stop  us  in  our  career,  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  a  little  bloodshed  in  revolutions  is  always  necessary. 
What !  do  you  shudder  ?  How  long  since  you  have  be- 
come weak  women,  to  be  frightened  at  such  words  ?  Is 
there  one  among  you  who  would  dare  to  swear  upon  the 
Gospel  that  he  has  not  caused  some  secret  murder  to  be 
committed  in  .the  vaults  of  his  castle?  In  truth,  I  can 
swear  to  you  that  revolutions  without  bloodshed  have  no 
advantage.  Let  Charles  and  Manfred  perish,  and  we  will 
provide  for  ourselves.  Perhaps  some  will  fear  civil  war, 
contentions  among  the  chiefs;  but  leaving  aside  the 
pontiff,  who  is  ever  ready  to  take  advantage  of  our  dis- 
cord, so  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  us  to  be  united  in 
order  to  repulse  his  e-ndeavors,  civil  war  is  always  prefer- 
able to  the  dominion  of  a  foreigner. 

Count  Anselmo  had  got  thus  far  in  his  speech,  which, 
if  not  by  its  depth,  at  least  by  its  wickedness,  was  equal 
to  some  pages  of  our  Machiavelli,  when  a  confused  tramp- 
ling of  horses  was  heard  close  by.  One  of  the  conspira- 
tors, rising  quickly,  went  to  the  balcony  of  a  neighboring 
room,  and  immediately  returned,  crying:  "Some  armed 
men  are  coming  this  way  ! " 
13* 


298  The  Surprise. 

All  spoke  confusedly  :  "  We  are  betrayed  !  "  "  It  is 
the  patrol  passing  !  " — "  Mercy  upon  us,  we  are  lost !  " — 
"  No  !  " — "  Yes,  hear  the  noise  ;  it  is  too  large  a  squadron 
for  the  patrol." — "  I  said  so,"  said  the  old  conspirator, 
without  rising  from  his  seat,  to  his  neighbor  ;  "conspira- 
cies, when  they  go  on  for  a  long  time,  cannot  be  con- 
cealed, especially  among  us,  who  are  of  so  loquacious  a 
disposition  !  "  The  confusion  increased  ;  there  was  violent 
rushing  to  and  fro  ;  a  few  had  drawn  their  swords,  fastened 
the  door  on  the  inside,  and  without  a  word  showed  them- 
selves ready  to  defend  themselves  to  the  last  ;  most  of 
them  invoked  God,  and  wandered  through  the  hall  as  if 
deprived  of  their  reason,  like  the  men  who  were  struck 
with  blindness  by  the  angel  of  God  before  the  house  of 
Lot.  To  so  much  confusion  was  added  a  very  loud 
knock  at  the  street  door,  and  a  voice  cried  :  "Open,  by 
command  of  the  king  ! "  No  one  dared  to  move  in  an- 
swer to  the  call,  nor  would  they  have  been  able  to  do  so, 
for  the  boldest  gijarded  the  door.  Some  with  their  eyes 
covered,  some  looking  on  the  floorx  meditated  if  there 
might  not  be  some  hiding-place  ;  they  saw  a  door,  and  all 
crowding  near,  hastened  to  open  it ;  the  first  who  were 
pushed  out  fell  forward  against  the  sides  of  the  entry, 
and  there,  pressed  together,  could  neither  retreat  nor  go 
on,  while  those  behind  cursed  their  delay  and  pushed 
more  violently  than  ever. 

Rinaldodi  Caserta,  who  had  remained  unheeding  every- 
thing since  the  remark  which  had  interrupted  his  speech, 
suddenly  recovering  himself,  exclaimed  :  "Cowards!  In 
giving  yourself  to  a  conspiracy,  you  have  not  calculated 
all  the  contingencies  ;  so  much  the  worse  for  you  ;  this 
is  an  affair  of  the  dagger ;  put  death  between  you  and 
your  oppressors,  and  fear  no  one." 

The  Neapolitans  have  but  little  reputation  for  courage  ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  have  rather  that  of  being  cowards  : 
nevertheless  fame  sometimes  errs,  and  history  relates 
valiant  deeds  done  by  them  when  excited  by  the  example 
or  words  of  others  ;  therefore,  hearing  di  Caserta,  they 
changed  their  minds  and  drew  their  swords,  swearing  to 
fight  to  the  last  drop  of  their  blood.  By  a  strange  con- 


The  Surprise.  299 

tradiction  of  our  nature,  those  who  had  appeared  most 
eager  for  flight,  now  strove  to  put  themselves  in  the  most 
dangerous  positions. 

Meantime,  Manfred's  guard  had  three  times  in  vain 
commanded  them  to  open  the  door  in  the  name  of  the 
king  ;  they  then  attempted  to  burst  it  open  ;  the  design 
succeeded,  and  the  king  sprang  up  the  stairs  first,  followed 
by  the  unknown  knight.  They  went  through  many  rooms 
without  finding  a  trace  of  any  living  being,  but  at  last 
they  reached  a  bolted  door  ;  they  tried  to  open  it  with 
their  hands  alone  ;  not  succeeding,  they  took  a  mace  to 
break  it  in  ;  it  yielded  at  last,  but  not  without  some  labor 
and  time,  for  it  was  very  strongly  barred.  They  entered 
the  hall,  there  was  no  one  there  ;  they  saw  many  cloaks 
lying  upon  the  table,  and  some  torn  pieces  of  cloth  and 
two  swords  on  the  floor,  a  fire,  and  many  lights  burning — 
all  traces  of  recent  occupants,  but  those  occupants  had 
disappeared.  Manfred,  observing  some  papers,  took 
them  in  his  hand,  and  saw  with  wonder  that  they  were 
letters  from  his  enemies,  the  pontiff  and  Charles,  to  the 
rebels.  The  guard,  meantime,  not  being  satisfied  at  the 
escape  of  the  traitors,  did  all  sorts  of  strange  things  :  it 
happened  that  opposite  the  door  by  which  they  had  en- 
tered there  was  another — a  small  door  studded  with  iron, 
of  a  very  solid  appearance,  and  thinking  that  some  of 
the  fugitives  might  have  escaped  by  it,  they,  without  stop- 
ping to  think,  crowded  against  it  to  push  it  open,  as  .a 
short  time  before  the  conspirators  had  done,  and  it  already 
had  begun  to  shake  under  their  united  blows,  when  the 
captain  showed  how  impossible  it  would  have  been  for 
them  to  have  gone  out  by  that  way,  for  the  bolts  were  on 
that  side.  Now  occurred  a  singular  event :  one  of  the 
guard  devoted  to  the  king,  looking  at  the  tapestry  with 
which  the  hall  was  hung,  had  his  attention  attracted  by 
one  part  that  represented  the  pope  seated  in  the  consis- 
tory, in  the  act  of  receiving  the  Chinea  (white  palfrey), 
and  the  tribute  that,  some  centuries  since,  had  been  levied 
upon  the  kingdom.  Infuriated  with  blind  passion,  he 
raised  his  mace,  and  threw  it  with  all  his  force  against  the 
arras  :  it  was  lucky  for  the  pontiff  then  that  he  was  of 


3OO  The  Surprise. 

tapestry,  for  the  mace  struck  just  above  his  ear  and  cleft 
his  head  ;  but  the  weapon  did  not  bound  back,  as  it  would 
have  done  if  it  had  been  thrown  at  the  wall,  but  penetra- 
ted the  arras  and  disappeared,  and  was  heard  to  roll  on 
for  some  distance.  Imagine  the  terror  of  the  guard  :  he 
was  almost  on  the  point  of  kneeling  down  and  asking 
pardon  of  the  cloth ;  but  that  unknown  knight,  Rogiero, 
in  fact,  sprang  forward,  and  tearing  it  entirely  away,  dis- 
closed a  very  broad  corridor.  The  discovery  of  this  pas- 
sage, joined  to  the  observation  of  the  captain,  diverted 
ihe  attention  of  the  guard  from  bursting  open  the  other 
door,  and  caused  them  to  wait  for  orders  from  Manfred. 
He  boldly  took  in  his  hand  a  light,  and  leaped  into  the 
corridor  ;  his  'soldiers  followed  him. 

It  is  necessary  to  inform  the  reader  that  the  hall  where 
the  conspirators  had  met  had  once  been  destined  for 
criminal  judgments,  at  the  time  that  the  pontifical  vicar 
governed  Benevento  for  the  Church.  The  small  door 
which  the  guard  had  attempted  to  burst  open,  led  to  the 
prisons  ;  the  large  corridor,  hidden  behind  the  arras, 
served  for  a  room  for  trials.  They  saw  ranged  about  in 
order,  like  chef-d'ceuvres  of  art  collected  in  some  museum, 
the  instruments  of  torture  used  in  those  times  to  make 
the  accused  confess. 

Manfred,  giving  no  heed  to  those  instruments,  went  on 
with  great  haste  ;  he  traversed  an  incredible  number  of 
rooms  and  galleries,  the  doors  of  which,  in  their  flight,  the 
traitors  had  left  open.  At  last,  when  they  least  expected 
it,  they  came  upon  a  deserted  street  near  the  walls  ;  they 
looked  and  listened  intently.  Silence  everywhere  ;  they 
stood  for  some  minutes  in  doubt  whether  to  return  or  go 
on,  but  the  best  way  seemed  to  retrace  their  steps. 
Reaching  the  hall  of  assembly,  Manfred  ordered  his  guard 
to  take  possession  of  the  cloaks,  swords,  and  everything 
left  there  by  the  conspirators  ;  the  letters  from  his  enemies 
he  put  carefully  in  his  bosom.  On  returning  to  the  royal 
palace,  he  perceived  that  the  unknown  knight, -taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  confusion,  had  disappeared.  This  unex- 
pected event  caused  him  no  greater  wonder,  but  it 
increased  his  suspicions. 


The  Surprise.  301 

Meanwhile  Rinaldo  and  Anselmo,'  out  of  breath  and 
weary,  for  they  had  walked  very  rapidly,  arrived  at  their 
own  dwelling.  In  what  way  they  had  drawn  themselves 
•from  so  imminent  a  danger,  we  will  explain  in  a  few 
words.  Count  della  Cerra,  a  very  shrewd  man,  had  not 
chosen  the  palace  of  the  pontifical  legate  for  the  rendez- 
vous of  the  conspirators  without  his  accustomed  penetra- 
tion. Before  leaving  Naples,  he  had  heard  of  the  secret 
exits  of  the  palace  of  Benevento ;  his  first  care,  as  soon 
as  he  arrived  in  the  city,  was  to  ascertain  if  what  report 
said  was  true ;  and  fortune  was  so  favorable  to  him,  that 
he  found  the  plan  among  the  archives.  His  malicious 
nature  would  not  allow  him  to  disclose  the  secret  passage 
at  the  first  noise  :  himself  the  most  cowardly  of  men,  he 
enjoyed  the  cowardice  of  his  equals,  and  in  this  fellow- 
ship of  baseness  his  heart  was  solaced  ;  nor  would  he,  if 
grave  necessity  had  not  forced  him  to  it,  have  put  an  end 
to  the  exhibition  of  their  shame,  for  it  was  the  most 
pleasing  spectacle  which  he  had  ever  witnessed.  There- 
fore, while  he  saw  fear  among  the  conspirators,  he  stopped 
to  enjoy  it,  forgetful  of  danger ;  but  when  they  conceived 
a  sudden  courage,  when  they  agreed  to  defend  each  other 
or  die,  then,  as  if  unable  to  support  this  glow  of  generos- 
ity, he  imparted  to  them  the  means  of  saving  themselves 
by  flight.  Whether  or  not  they  accepted  it  with  joyful 
cries,  let  those  judge  who  know  that  if  man  is  sometimes 
induced  to  become  courageous  through  despair,  oftener 
he  is  made  cowardly  by  security. 

They  had  not  quite  recovered  from  their  fatigue  when 
one  of  the  king's  guard  entered  the  room,  who  com- 
manded them,  on  the  part  of  his  Serene  Highness,  to  pre- 
sent themselves  immediately  at  court. 

"  Do  you  know  the  reason  of  the  summons  ? "  de- 
manded della  Cerra  with  ill-concealed  impatience. 

"  My  orders  are  to  summon  you  .immediately  to  court," 
and  with  these  words  the  soldier  made  a  bow  and  de- 
parted. 

"  I  will  not  go  there,"  said  Count  Anselmo,  "  certainly 
not.  If  they  wish  to  imprison  me,  let  them  take  me  ;  but 
to  go  and  put  myself  into  their  power,  I  know  no  human 


302  The  Surprise. 

or  divine  laws  that  command  it.     Up,  up,  count,  there  is 
no  time  to  think  upon  it :  let  us  fly." 

"Always  to  fly,  always  to  fly,  and  never  to  kill!" 
replied  di  Caserta  ;  "  you  may  fly  if  you  wish  ;  I  hate  the 
advice  of  fear ;  I  never  passed  an  hour  that  prepared  me 
to  leave  this  life  without  my  revenge  ;  before  dying,  I 
hope  to  see  the  blood  of  my  enemy  ;  if  the  vengeance 
of  the  mind  has  failed,  that  of  the  hand  cannot ;  are  you 
not  armed  with  a  dagger  ?  What  do  you  fear  ?  Death 
settles  all  accounts."  And  taking  Anselmo  by  the  arm, 
he  added,  "Come." 


"See,  my  lord  constable,  see,  my  lord  chamberlain," 
exclaimed  Manfred,  as  he  saw  the  Counts  di  Caserta  and 
della  Cerra  enter  the  room,  "  the  boasted  fidelity  of  my 
barons ;  when  I  labor  day  and  night  to  preserve  them 
from  the  invasion  of  the  foreigner,  when  I  am  ready  to 
shed  my  blood  on  the  field  of  battle  for  their  safety, 
unwilling  even  that  I  should  close  with  glory  a  life  worn 
out  with  labor,  they  conspire  to  despatch  me  with  the 
dagger  of  an  assassin,  and  offer  my  throne  to  my  enemy, 
• — the  traitors  !  " 

"Your  Highness,"  replied  di  Caserta,  "are  you  really 
sure  that  you  have  not  been  deceived  ?" 

"  Deceived?  See  if  I  deceive  myself;  read  these  let- 
ters, see  the  signature  of  the  Count  of  Provence,  and 
gather  from  the  reply  what  the  villains  must  have  offered 
him." 

"  I  am  horrified,"  cried  with  one  voice  Anselmo  and 
Rinaldo. 

"  It  is  an  indignity  ;  they  wish  me  to  be  cruel.  They 
try  to  force  me  to  tarnish  my  fame  as  a  generous  prince ; 
they  shall  obtain  what  they  wish  ;  perhaps  the  rays  of  to- 
morrow's sun  may  shine  upon  a  hundred  headless  bodies. 
Here,  where  I  call  them  to  consult  upon  the  affairs  of  the 
kingdom,  here  they  betray  me — infamous  men  !  " 

"  I  have  always  encouraged  your  Serene  Highness  to 
severity,"  added  della  Cerra,  "nor  do  I  know  why  evil 
counsel  should  prevail ;  the  good  have  no  need  of  mercy  ; 


The  Surprise.  303 

to  the  bad,  justice  should  show  itself  both  inexorable  and 
severe." 

"What  have  I  done  to  the  barons,  that  they  should 
screen  themselves  behind  treason,  in  order  to  destroy 
their  king?  .  .  ." 

"  The  son  of  Frederick,"  began  di  Caserta. 

"  Glorious  St.  Germano  !  "  exclaimed  della  Cerra,  "how 
can  they  prefer  an  unknown  man  to  so  wise,  so  virtuous 
a  king?  " 

"  No,  my  faithful  barons,  1  feel  that  I  am  guilty  ;  but 
if  Manfred  has  sinned,  he  has  not  sinned  against  them." 
He  \vas  then  silent.  After  some  time  he  murmured  in 
a  low  voice  :  "Perhaps  I  am  judged,  perhaps  this  is  the 
first  hour  of  passion  ;  let  us  do  all  that  belongs  to  a 
magnanimous  man  to  do  in  such  a  case,  and  then  let  us 
leave  to  God  to  fulfil  what  He  has  decreed.  Barons,  be 
seated." 

When  they  were  seated,  he  dictated  to  them,  with  won- 
derful celerity,  despatches  for  the  lieutenants,  the  gov- 
ernors and  other  magistrates  who  represented  him  in  the 
different  cities  of  the  kingdom,  ordering  them  to  move 
as  soon  as  possible  with  supplies;  he  laid  out  the  roads 
for  them  to  take,  the  stops  to  make,  and  indicated  Capua 
and  San  Germano  as  the  places  to  join  forces.  When  the 
despatches  were  written,  he  signed  and  sealed  them  with- 
out reading  ;  thus,  passed  a  grear,part  of  the  night.  This 
business  done,  he  sent  off  della  Cerra  to  procure  some 
rapid  couriers  to  carry  them  to  their  several  destinations. 
He  remained  alone  with  di  Caserta. 

"  You  at  least  do  not  betray  me,  faithful  friend  !  "  said 
Manfred,  clasping  his  hand  ;  "  our  friendship  is  very  old  ; 
it  began  under  the  auspices  of  that  being  who  now  blesses 
it  from  heaven.  .  .  .  Oh  !  how  imprudent  I  am  to  renew 
your  sorrow  ;  time  has  not  healed  your  wound  ?  Time, 
then,  has  no  power  upon  woes  like  yours  !  Go  now, 
provide  with  Count  Giordano  for  the  safety  of  this  city 
and  my  family  ;  for  the  perfidy  of  a  few  rebels  I  must 
not  neglect  the  safety  of  my  faithful  subjects,  nor  can  I  ; 
it  would  be  attributed  to  cowardice.  If  the  star  of  Svvabia 
must  set,  let  it  set  with  the  same  brilliancy  with  which  it 


304  The  Surprise. 

rose.  The  fame  of  my  ancestors  shines  brightly,  nor  will 
we  dishonor  it  ;  it  is  easy  to  make  ourselves  great  when 
fortune  favors  us,  difficult  when  she  frowns  upon  us.  Go," 
provide  for  all  ;  you  have  wisdom  enough  to  rule  the 
kingdom  ;  do  all  that  you  wish,  but  let  there  be  no  blood- 
shed. We  will  p/it  the  traitors  in  a  situation  which  will 
prevent  them  from  injuring  the  good  ;  let  them  have  for 
punishment  the  shame  of  plotting  a  dishonorable  work 
uselessly ;  I  trust  much  to  your  vigilance  and  fidelity." 

Di  Caserta  received  these  flatteries  like  a  tamed  lion, 
and  set  out  to  do  his  office. 

The  Count  della  Cerra,  having  despatched  the  couriers, 
returned  to  the  palace;  he  went  on  his  way  thinking: 
"  Judge,  O  my  head,  if  the  favorable  moment  for  discov- 
ery has  come  :  has  Gisfredo  been  beforehand  with  me  ? 
Is  Manfred  deceiving  us ?  Indeed,  Gisfredo  has  not  shown 
himself  to  me  for  some  time,  and  Manfred  is  capable  of 
this  and  more.  But  Gisfredo  could  not  have  told  him 
how  or  when — no,  I  have  never  intrusted  it  to  him  ;  that 
was  a  lucky  foresight :  then  my  confession  may  be  some- 
what necessary,  and  rewarded.  But  who  will  assure  me 
that  Manfred  will  give  me  a  reward  ?  If  I  had  a  guaran- 
tee for  it — then — he  would  certainly  despise  me — wltat 
matter  ?  do  I  not  despise  myself?  That  would  be  noth- 
ing if  the  reward  were  only  sure — suppose  I  make  him 
swear  it  upon  the  gospels  :  but  he  is  a  heretic  !  Upon 
the  honor  of  his  family — it  is  the  same  thing.  I  am  really 
sure,  though,  that  he  will  reward  the  first  accuser  in  order 
that  others  may  not  lose  courage  to  reveal  to  him  future 
conspiracies.  Certainly  it  would  not  be  great  shrewdness 
to  punish  as  well  as  recompense  at  this  time,  and  Manfred 
is  no  fool :  I  should  not  like  to  be  near  mm,  nor  would 
he  like  to  have  me  ;  he  will  send  me  as  governor  to  some 
distant  province  of  Sicily  :  so  much  the  better  for  me,  I 
will  reign  in  my  own  fashion,  and  shall  have  the  right  of 
life  and  death  ;  oh  what  great  joy  it  is  to  sign  a  death 
warrant !  See  how  hope  blinds  wisdom  !  If  Charles 
should  come?  The  least  I  could  lose  is  my  head  if  I 
stay ;  if  I  'fly,  I  should  lead  a  miserable  life  in  this 
wretched  world, — misery  is  an  atrocious  crime  !  Through- 


The  Surprise.  305 

out  the  earth  tribunals  may  be  found  to  punish  it.  I 
could  not  carry  my  fiefs  and  my  government  with  me  ; 
let  us  seal  the  compact  with  ready  money:  it  will  be 
better  so  ;  I  will  go  to  Trapani,  I  will  prepare  a  fast  galley 
there,  and  if  affairs  are  ruined  for  the  Swabian,  Twill  fly 
to  the  Saracens,  and,  if  need  be,  will  abjure  my  faith.  The 
land  of  my  birth — what  birth  ?  Wherever  wines  produce 
juices  that  renew  the  blood,  wherever  beauty  yields  her 
pleasures  to  gilded  wishes,  wherever  may  be  found  minds 
to  corrupt,  virtues  to  despise,  vices  to  exercise — there  is 
my  country.  And  in  conclusion,  Rinaldo  is  beginning  to 
be  dangerous ;  he  has  betrayed,  and  prudence  counsels 
me  to  leave  him." — Thus  meditating,  he  entered  the  ante- 
chamber of  the  king. 

"  Anselmo,"  said  the  Count  di  Caserta,  meeting  him, 
for  destiny  had  willed  that  he  should  return  before  him, 
"  I  was  waiting  for  you." 

"Is  anything  amiss,  Sir  Rinaldo  ?  " 

"  Nothing  amiss.  Manfred  does  not  distrust  us ;  be 
not  discouraged.  Anselmo,  let  us  show  a  bold  front  to 
fortune,  for  events  are  not  desperate  yet.  Have  you 
delivered  the  despatches?"' 

"  I  have." 

"And  sent  forth  the  couriers?" 

"Yes,  count." 

"  Why  have  you  done  this  ?  " 

"  And  what  should  I  have  done  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  the  man  to.  need  suggestions :  you  should 
have  thrown  them  into  the  river." 

"  You  are  right,  count ;  but  the  turmoil  of  these  events 
has  somewhat  confused  my  head.  .  .  I  know  not,  ...  I 
should  not  have  thought  .  .  ." 

"  Beware  of  what  you  do,  Anselmo  ;  my  heart,  near  ceas- 
ing to  beat,  has  resumed  its  old  strength  ;  it  watches,  and 
you  would  not  be  in  time  to  betray  me." 

"  Oh  !  what  are  you  saying,  my  noble  protector?  "  re- 
sumed Cerra  with  an  obsequious  demeanor.  "I  have 
never  thanked  Heaven  so  much  as  now,  that  it  grants  me 
an  occasion  to  show  you  my  gratitude  by  placing  my  life 


306  The  Judgment  of  God. 

in  jeopardy  for  you.     I  have  sworn  to  myself  to  partici- 
pate both  in  your  joys  and  in  your  sorrows." 

Rinaldo  made  believe  to  thank  him  with  a  smile  ;  still, 
knowing  what  a  scoundrel  he  was,  and  danger  making 
him  more  suspicious,  he  did  not  like  that  the  option  of 
being  honest  should  depend  on  Cerra  himself.  Hence, 
he  made  him  go  with  him  into  the  presence  of  Manfred, 
nor  did  he  leave  him  alone  a  moment,  till  the  fell  destiny 
which  now  threatened  the  count  had  closed  his  lips  with 
the  secret  of  death. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    JUDGMENT   OF   GOD. 

Cotal  fine  ebbe  il  maledetto  Gano  : 
Che  lo  eterno  giudicio  e  sempre  appresso, 
Quando  tu  credi  che  sia  ben  lontano. 

PULCI,  Morgante  Maggiore. 

Thus  did  the  accursed  Gano  pass  away : 
For  ever  near  eternal  justice  is, 
Although  far  off  thou  thinkest  it  will  stay. 

M.  G.  M. 

1PON  the  head  of  Manfred  rests  the  crown  of 
kings — if  it  were  a  circle  of  fire,  it  would  bind  it 
less  painfully.  An  excruciating  pain  tortures 
his  temples,  as  if  the  blade  of  a  poniard  was 
piercing  them  through  and  through ;  the  fibres  of  his 
brain,  as  if  burnt  over,  beat  with  incredible  anguish,  yet 
he  lifts  his  head  boldly  as  in  the  day  of  victory,  and 
shows  that  pride  will  domineer  over  his  brow  until  death 
shall  have  impressed  upon  it  the  stamp  of  destruction. 
His  eyes,  accustomed  to  watch  with  fear  in  the  night,  or 
sleep  with  horrible  dreams,  sparkle  with  such  a  lustre  that 
he  must  be  a  daring  one  who  could  look  up  to  them  the 
second  time.  His  face  was  pale,  and  a  smile  wavered 


The  Judgment  of  God.  307 

over  it,  but  it  was  not  a  sinile  of  joy.  Surrounded  by 
royal  pomp,  the  purple  mantle  embroidered  with  gold 
and  ornamented  with  jewels,  covered  part  of  his  person  ; 
he  grasps  the  sceptre  with  his  right  hand,  his  left  rests 
upon  the  silver  eagle  that  he  wears  embroidered  on  his 
chest ; — if  he  does  this  to  prevent  its  flight,  he  attempts 
it  in  vain.  It  is  written  in  the  book,  where  neither  by 
threat  nor  by  prayer  destiny  erases  aught,  that  the  Swa- 
bian  eagle  is  to  abandon  forever  the  land  of  Naples. 

On  the  right  of  the  king  sits  Count  Rinaldo  di  Caserta, 
of  the  family  of  Aquino,  as  great  constable  of  the  king- 
dom ;  over  his  seat  hangs  the  escutcheon  bearing  the  ar- 
morial pretence  of  his  house,  which  in  those  times  was 
quartered  per  cross  first  and  second,  gules,  three  bars  sinis- 
ter, or,  third  and  fourth,  argent,  three  bars  sinister,  gules, 
and- lion  rampant,  argent. 

He  wore  a  purple  mantle  lined  with  ermine,  his  head 
covered  with  a  red  silk  cap,  and  held  in  his  hands  the 
royal  sword,  ensign  of  his  office  :  forgetful  of  the  people 
'that  stood  around  him,  forgetful  of  himself,  he  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  face  of  Manfred  to  espy  its  grief;  though,  if  he 
rejoiced  or  despaired  at  the  constancy  of  the  king,  no  one 
could  tell,  for  he  stood  there  immovable  as  a  corpse. 
First  on  the  left  hand  of  the  king  appeared  the  chief  jus- 
tice of  the  kingdom,  Giordano  Lancia,  cousin  of  Manfred  : 
he  also  wore  purple,  and  beside  his  shield,  which  bore 
or,  lion  rampant,  sable,  a  bordure,  gules  et  or,  which  the 
Count  Lancia  had  assumed  as  descendant  of  the  Dukes 
of  Bavaria,  he  displayed  the  gonfalon  of  justice,  which 
according  to  old  customs  he  hung  up  to  the  balcony  of  his 
palace  every  time  a  man  was  condemned  to  death.  Im- 
mediately after  the  constable  on  the  right  came  the  seat  of 
the  high  admiral,  which  was  empty,  because  this  office  was 
held  by  Marino  Capece,  who  at  that  time,  with  his  bro- 
ther Corrado,  governed  Sicily  :  there  was,  however,  hang- 
ing over  it  the  family  arms,  and  a  lantern',  insignia  of  his 
office.  Second  on  the  left  of  the  king  came  Anselmo 
della  Cerra,  grand  chamberlain,  also  dressed  in  purple, 
with  a  golden  key  at  his  belt :  he  turned  his  eyes  suspic- 
iously right  and  left,  and  would  take  note  of  everybody  ; 


308  The  Judgment  of  God. 

where  there  was  only  a  line  of  knights  either  he  did  not 
look,  or  did  it  very  slightly  ;  but  he  took  great  care  in 
glancing  through  the  crowd,  where  it  was  most  compact,  to 
discern  the  furthest  ones,  and  those  least  visible  in  the 
dim  light.  There  followed  after  him  the  officers  of  the 
crown  in  the  following  order,  for  it  would  take  too  long  to 
describe  them  all :  the  great  prothonotary,  whose  duty  it 
was  to  receive  the  minutes,  and  reduce  into  decrees  all  that 
the  king  ordained  ;  he  sat  the  third  after  the  king,  and  was 
then,  according  to  the  histories  of  the  time,  a  certain  Messer 
Giovanni  d'Alife  :  the  lord  chancellor,  president  of  the 
civil  affairs  of  the  kingdom,  and  secretary  of  the  king,  sit- 
ting the  third  on  the  left  of  Count  della  Cerra,  was  Cor- 
rado  di  Pierleone  Benincasa  :  finally  the  great  butler,  with 
the  boar's  head  embroidered  on  his  purple  mantle,  sitting 
upon  the  steps  of  the  throne  at  the  foot  of  the  king,  whom, 
if  my  memory  errs  not,  was  named  Giordano  d' Angalone, 
uncle  to  that-  Natale  d' Angalone  who  distinguished  him- 
self so  much  in  the  conspiracy  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers.  The 
several  principal  officers  of  the  crown  being  disposed  as  we 
have  stated,  the  rest  of  the  hall  of  parliament  was  occupied 
by  the  lower  nobility.  It  was  noticeable  though,  that 
among  such  a  large  assemblage  of  people  naturally  very 
loquacious,  there  was  not  heard  the  least  whispering  :  they 
seemed  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  conjured  by  a  necromancer 
to  appear  upon  that  earth  that  had  long  before  consumed 
their  corpses. 

While  all  the  assembled  barons  stood  in  great  suspense 
as  to  what  was  to  follow,  of  a  sudden  a  door  opened, 
and  there  appeared  two  priests  carrying  an  altar,  the 
chronicle  says,  of  wood  ;  but  we  find  that  such  altars,  al- 
lowed in  the  times  of  the  persecution  of  the  Church,  were 
solemnly  abolished  after  the  Emperor  Constantine,  in  the 
year  of  grace  517,  by  a  council  in  France.  Hence  we  are 
inclined  to  believe  that  Manfred,  who  wanted  to  do  many 
things  his  own"  way,  and  different  from  the  precepts  of 
the  Church,  behaved  in  the  same  manner  in  respect  to 
those  altars.  The  priests  arriving  in  the  midst  of  the 
hall,  put  down  the  altar,  and  having  lighted  two  candles, 
and  placed  on  it  a  silver  crucifix,  and  a  missal  with  clasps 


The  Judgment  of  God.  309 

» 

also  of  silver,  without  saying  a  word,  retired  whence 
they  had  come.  Manfred  stood  a  moment,  then  he1 
slowly  strove  to  rise  from  the  throne  ;  it  seemed  at  first 
as  if  he  could  not ;  he  attempted  again,  and  in  vain  ; 
finally,  by  a  violent  effort  he  rose  to  his  feet,  descended 
the  steps,  and  stopped  before  the  altar ;  he  deposited  upon 
it  the  sceptre,  the  crown,  and  the  royal  mantle ;  then, 
raising  his  right  hand  towards  the  barons,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  We  wish  for  no  blood  ; ...  we  wish  not  your  dishonor  ; . . . 
cease  to  seek  by  treachery  the  means  of  dragging  us  from 
the  throne  :  .  .  .  you  could  not  do  it.  By  your  free  and 
universal  consent  we  assumed  this  crown  and  sceptre  at 
Monreale  ;  by  our  own  free  will  we  restore  to  you  this 
sceptre  and  crown  at  Benevento ;  may  he  whom  you  will 
call  to  succeed  us  accomplish  what  we  had  hoped  to  do ; 
may  he  with  his  virtues  cause  you  to  bless  the  moment  in 
which,  changing  faith,  you  thought  the  fall  of  your  ancient 
lord  a  great  blessing !  "  .  .  .  And  he  was  continuing  with 
great  emotion,  but  the  barons,  no  longer  respecting  the 
king's  speaking,  drew  their  swords,  and  broke  forth  with 
loud  cries :  "  Death  to  traitors  !  .  .  .  Where  are  the 
traitors?"  And  those  who  cried  most  were  those  who 
were  betraying  him  the  most :  Count  Cerra  cried  himself 
hoarse  ;  Rinaldo  di  Caserta  raised  his  sword,  but  coming 
to  his  senses  from  his  distraction,  and  perceiving  that  it 
was  a  question  to  defend,  not  to  kill,  the  king,  lowered  it 
again,  sighing  :  "  It  is  not  yet  time  !  " 

The  noble  Manfred,  protesting  against  those  cries, 
broke  forth,  saying  :  "  We  wish  for  no  blood  :  be  this  the 
last  command  from  our  authority." 

Then  the  barons,  knowing  not  what  to  cry,  said  : 
"  Resume  the  crown  we  have  given  you,  O  king ;  we 
will  give  our  lives  to  maintain  it  on  your  head." 

"  Nowadays,"  replied  Manfred,  "  the  crown  of  Sicily 
is  more  a  crown  of  thorns  than  one  of  glory ;  still,  we 
will  not  refuse  the  charge,  provided  you  will  participate 
in  the  dangers  of  supporting  it,  for  we  alone  are  not  suf- 
ficient. It  behoves  therefore  to  renew  the  ancient  oath  ; 
this  is  the  same  crucifix  that  heard — it  is  now  ten  years 


3io  The  Judgment  of  God. 

ago — your  voices ;  these  the  Gospels  that  felt  the  touch 
of  your  hands  ;  swear." 

All  the  barons  of  the  kingdom  replied  tumultuously : 
"  O  king,  we  are  ready  to  do  all  you  order  us." 

In  the  disorder  that  ensued,  Anselmo  found  a  chance 
of  approaching  Rinaldb,  who,  having  returned  to  his  ab- 
stractions, seemed  like  a  somnambulist,  and  carefully  whis- 
pered in  his  ear  :  "  Count,  wake  up ;  we  have  got  to  renew 
our  oath  of  allegiance  ;  ...  it  will  be  an  additional  sin." 

"  It  will  not  be  the  one  that  will  send  us  to  perdition," 
replied  Rinaldo  ;  then  boldly  approaching  the  altar,  as 
was. the  custom,  he  kneeled  down  the  first,  and  touch- 
ing with  his  right  hand  the  book  of  the  Gospels,  and  with 
his  left  the  hand  of  the  king,  he  pronounced  with  a  loud 
voice,  which  by -degrees  became  more  faint,  the  follow- 
ing formula  :  "  In  the  presence  of  God  and  the  saints,  I 
renew  in  the  hands  of  my  King,  Manfred  First,  the  oath 
of  fealty  and  loyal  homage  that  I  already  swore  to  him  at 
Monreale." — Saying  which,  either  passion  or  conscience 
smote  him  ;  he  turned  pale,  and  the  parts  of  the  face  the 
least  exposed  to  the  circulation  of  the  blood  became 
quite  dark  ;  nevertheless,  so  anxious  was  the  great  chief 
justice  to  pronounce  his  oath,  that  those  emotions  of 
Caserta  passed  unnoticed. 

After  him  there  comes  forward  Count  Anselmo,  boldly, 
smiling  with  that  sardonic  smile  of  his,  as  if  mocking  the 
person  of  the  king,  and  the  more  sacred  presence  of  the 
Man-God,  the  heaven  and  the  earth  ;  he  kneels  before 
the  altar,  and  stretches  his  hand  upon  the  Evangelists.  .  .  . 

"  God  !  "  exclaimed  the  frightened  wretch,  for  an  iron 
hand  had  grasped  his  wrist  like  a  vice,  and  held  it  sus- 
pended. 

"Perjurer!"  threateningly  cries  at  his  side  a  knight 
all  covered  with  mail ;  "  were  it  not  for  the  respect  due  to 
the  sacred  altar  that  you  have  polluted,  and  that  of  his 
Serene  Highness  King  Manfred,  I  would  thrust  a  dagger  in 
the  middle  of  your  heart ;  rise  ;  .  .  .  before  my  king,  before 
you,  honorable  barons,  1  accuse  this  man,  Anselmo, 
Count  della  Cerra,  guilty  of  high  treason,  and  a  traitor 
to  the  kingdom." 


The  Judgment  of  God.  311 

"  Thou  liest  in  thy  throat  !  "  although  taken  aback  by 
the  event,  replied  immediately  Anselmo  della  Cerra. 

"I,"  continued  the  knight,  turning  to  Manfred,  "in 
the  presence  of  your  Serene  Highness,  with  your  good  and 
gracious  leave,  affirm  that  Anselmo,  Count  della  Cerra, 
here  present,  is  a  traitor.  He  has  attempted  to  deliver 
your  kingdom  into  the  hands  of  your  enemies,  much  to 
your  injury  and  disgrace,  to  the  injury  of  the  state,  and 
bad  example  to  all  your  vassals  ;  he  has  persevered  in  the 
infamous  attempt  with  all  his  mind  and  strength  ;  and  al- 
though I  have  infinite  proofs  to  sustain  with  certainty 
my  accusation,  I  confine  myself  to  the  production  of 
this  paper,  that  of  itself  is  entirely  sufficient." 

He  handed  cautiously  a  paper  to  the  king,  who  had 
recognized  the  knight  as  the  same  one  who  had  dis- 
covered the  conspiracy  the  previous  night :  the  paper 
was  a  minute  of  a  letter  that  Count  Anselmo  intended  to 
send  to  Charles  d'Anjou,  in  which  he  magnified  his  ser- 
vices, and  promised  to  render  still  greater  ones  ;  only  he 
should  remember  him.  Towards  the  end  he  spoke  of  all 
the  remaining  barons  his  co-conspirators  as  a  set  of  fools 
who,  if  it  were  not  for  him,  would  go  of  their  own  accord 
to  put  themselves  into  the  hands  of  Manfred ;  neverthe- 
less, he  need  not  doubt,  for  he  was  able  to  overrule  the 
events,  and  resist  fortune ;  for  he  would  willingly  spend 
the  work  of  his  hand  and  brain  for  such  a  wise  and  gener- 
ous lord  ;  he  would  spend  even  his  life,  if  the  occasion 
demanded  ; — and  so  on,  with  expressions  sometimes  flat- 
tering, sometimes  full  of  greediness,  all  vile.  The  paper, 
however,  was  not  signed  by  the  count,  only  it  was  written 
in  his  own  handwriting  :  Rogiero  had  found  it  in  the 
corridor,  where  Cerra  had  lost  it  in  his  hasty  flight. 

"  Even,"  continued  Rogiero,  "  if  my  charge  against 
him  should  not  be  considered  as  sufficiently  proved,  as  a 
good  and  loyal  vassal,  I  hold  myself  ready,  oh  my  king, 
to  defend  your  honor  and  life,  nor  eschew  any  danger  in 
order  to  bring  to  your  notice  all  conspiracies  against 
your  state,  if  1  wish  not  to  be  judged  also  guilty  of  high 
treason.  Therefore  I  offer  to  prove  by  personal  combat 
that  what  I  have  asserted  is  true.  I  humbly  and  earnestly 


312  The  Judgment  of  God. 

beg  that  you  would  consider  the  charge  sufficient  to  grant 
authorization  for  the  duel,  for  I  hope  in  the  Judgment  of 
God  to  prove  it  for  the  honor,  welfare  and  exaltation  of 
your  state." 

"  And  I,"  replied  the  accused,  "  Anselmo  della  Cerra, 
by  permission  of  your  Serene  Highness,  declare  this  un- 
known knight  a  liar,  and  protest  that  paper  does  not  belong 
to  me,  that  my  handwriting  in  it  is  counterfeited.  .  .  ."  He 
had  hardly  pronounced  the  last  words,  than  he  perceived 
the  blunder  he  had  committed,  and  strove  to  remedy  it 
by  adding  precipitously :  "  And  hence  I  offer  to  . . ." 

Manfred,  who  from  the  beginning  of  his  speech  had 
fixed  on  him  his  piercing  eyes,  at  that  fatal  point  inter- 
rupted him,  asking : 

"Who  told  you,  Sir  Count,  that  the  handwriting  of  this 
paper  is  similar  to  yours  ?  " 

"  I  .  .  ."  replied  Anselmo,  hesitatingly,  "  I  saw  it." 

"Ah  !  you  have  seen  it?  "  said  Manfred,  lowering  his 
look. 

"Yes,"  with  increasing  terror,  added  Anselmo.      .» 

Manfred  again  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him  so  as  to  force 
him  to  lower  his  to  the  ground,  and  after  noticing  his 
confused  looks,  with  a  voice  half  threatening,  half  mock- 
ing, said,  "  Very  well." 

Anselmo,  obliged  to  finish  his  sentence  of  denial  of  the 
v accusation,  continued:  "And  hence  I  offer  myself  to 
prove  the  contrary  by  every  trial,  either  military  or  civil, 
trusting  only  in  the  Judgment  of  God."  * 

Manfred  in  the  meanwhile,  after  having  carefully  read 
the  paper,  handed  it  to  the  constable,  saying :  "What  do 
you  think  of  it  ?  "  Rinaldo,  taking  it  in  his  hands,  pre- 
~  tended  to  scrutinize  it  attentively  :  the  bystanders,  unable 
to  restrain  themselves,  grouped  around  him  ;  some  took 
him  by  one  arm,  some  by  another ;  some  thrust  their 
heads  under  his  chin,  some  over  his  shoulders  ;  the  tall- 
est of  them  stood  in  front  of  him,  on  tiptoe,  with  his  head 
bent  on  his  breast,  like  a  stork  when  it  takes  food ;  the 

*  For  these  formulas,  see  FAUSTUS,  Treatise  on  the  Duel  according 
to  the  Laws  of  Honor. 


The  Judgment  of  God.  313 

shortest  one  lifting  his  face,  and  seeing  so  many  men 
standing  before  him  like  so  many  walls,  took  a  chair  and 
mounted  on  it  :.  thus  there  arose  a  confusion,  a  hubbub, 
such  as  the  nature  of  the  Neapolitans  always  adopts  even 
in  the  commonest  operations  of  life. 

The  conspirators,  who  feared  every  movement  to  be 
lost,  with  words  and  signs  entreated  Caserta  to  save  them 
from  that  danger ;  and  he,  who  seemed  to  be  all  ablaze 
when  the  others  seemed  spent  coals,  assured  them  with  a 
look  that  his  spirit  was  on  the  watch.  At  this  point  the 
king,  approaching  him,  repeated  in  a  low  tone,  "  What 
do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  You  can  authorize  the  combat."  Which  was  true, 
but  he  did  not  advise  it  for  the  sake  of  justice,  but  for  the 
hope  that  if  there  was  any  means  of  safety  for  him  and  his 
fellow  conspirators,  it  was  by  getting  rid  of  the  suspected 
Count  Cerra ;  which  would  certainly  happen,  if  he  was 
obliged  to  fight,  being  naturally  a  coward,  and  weakened 
in  body;  while  his  adversary,  to  judge  from  appearances, 
seemed  a  very  brave  warrior  :  in  fine,  Caserta  was  play- 
ing on  Cerra  by  accident  the  trick  that  Cerra  had  not 
been  able  to  play  on  Caserta  by  shrewdness. 

"  We  had  thought,  constable,"  said  Manfred  to  Caserta, 
"to  have  this  affair  tried  by  civil  judgment,  for  by  these 
Judgments  of  God  there  has  never  resulted  aught  that  is 
satisfactory  ;  for  often  the  man  challenged  to  it  does  not 
come  to  the  field  in  person,*  and  with  a  manifest  injus- 
tice very  often  guilt  prevails  over  innocence." 

"  Yet  our  religion  .  .  ."  interrupted  a  knight. 

"  Religion  is  a  holy  thing  ;  but  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
superstition — as  deformed  an  object  as  the  former  is 
lovely ;  but  the  ignorant  crowd,  baron,  as  they  are  both 
mysterious,  is  not  able  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the 
other." 

"God,"  insisted  the  knight,  "has  often  visibly  pro- 
tected innocence  in  His  Judgments" 

"  But   often  also  He  has   not.     Why  should  we  put 

*  The  challenged  in  those  Judgments  of  God  were  not  obliged 
to  fight  in  person,  and  often  they  were  represented  by  a  so-called 
champion  who  defended  their  cause. 
14 


3 H  The  Judgment  of  God. 

Him  to  the  necessity  of  performing  a  miracle,  when  we 
know  not  whether  He  has  decreed  it  in  His  holy  will  : 
why  appeal  to  Him  when  man  can  do  of  himself?  Has 
He  not  given  us  our  wisdom  for  this  ?  " 

The  knight — either  that  he  knew  not  what  to  reply,  or 
for  other  reasons — drew  back,  murmuring:  "He  is  a 
heretic." 

Rinaldo,  who  for  his  private  ends  desired  that  the  duel 
should  take  place,  had  allowed  the  knight  to  speak,  be- 
cause he  was  adopting  a  means  of  persuasion  which  it 
would  not  become  him  to  use ;  and  beside,  his  insisting 
would  have  given  rise  to  suspicion  :  now,  however,  per- 
ceiving that  those  persuasions  were  not  sufficient,  he 
added  his  own. 

"  My  king,"  said  he  to  Manfred,  "  you  know  better 
than  any  one  else  that  there  are  two  causes  for  which, 
according  to  the  constitution  of  the  kingdom,  a  duel  can 
be  allowed  in  your  states  :  first  for  charge  of  high  treason, 
second  for  murder  by  poison  or  otherwise  ;  so  that  your 
Serene  Highness  could  not  withdraw  your  consent,  for . .  ." 

"  And  if  we  should,  constable,  what  would  you  have 
to  say?  It  is  better  now  than  never  :  should  errors  live 
forever  ?  Shall  there  be  no  end,  no  limit,  to  the  follies  of 
our  ancestors?  Would  you  grieve  that  these  remains  of 
barbarous  ages  should  be  abolished?" 

Giordano  Lancia,  cousin  of  Manfred,  strongly  attached 
to  him  both  by  love  and  interest,  gave  force  to  the  ad- 
vice given  by  Caserta,  in  saying  :  "  My  king,  I  take  the 
liberty  to  observe  that  these  Judgments  of  God  constitute 
part  of  the  baronial  privileges  ;  it  seems  to  me  that  just 
now  it  is  not  the  season  for  reforms,  and  they  would 
complain  of  this  more  than  any  other,  because,  as  it  is 
an  external  demonstration  of  those  privileges,  it  would 
humble  them  more  in  the  eyes  of  the  people."  * 
. '  Manfred,  who  had  not  thought  that  there  would  be 
such  strong  opposition  to  his  views,  moved  by  the  advice 

*  Nobles  in  those  days  were  not  amenable  to  civil  trials  whenever 
they  were  accused  of  treason  or  other  crimes,  but  to  the  so-called 
Judgment  of  God ;  and  in  some  cases  they  were  also  allowed  to  be 
represented  by  a  cliampion. 


The  Judgment  of  God.  315 

of  such  authoritative  persons,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  say- 
ing :   "  Truly  error  arrives  as  swiftly  as  desire,  and  departs 
as  slowly  as  hope  ! " — Then  advancing  towards  the  chief 
prothonotary,  he  ordered,  "  Make  out  our  letters-patent :  , 
we  grant  the  free  field." 

The  chief  prothonotary,  readily  fulfilling  his  office,  '• 
handed  the  parchment  to  Manfred  to  sign,  who  affixing 
his  signature  handed  it  back  at  once.  Then  Sir  (iio- 
vanni  d'Alife  read  :  "  We,  Manfred  First,  by  the  grace  of  ' 
God,  King  of  Sicily,  etc.,  etc.,  by  these  presents  grant  to 
Sir  Anselmo  Count  della  Cerra  accused,  and  to  the 
unknown  knight  accuser,  here  present,  free  and  safe 
field  3>X.  first  blood  in  this  our  city  of  Benevento,  in  which 
each  of  them  may  settle  with  arms  the  charge  of  high 
treason  through  the  space  of  this  day  only,  anything  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding,  etc.,  etc.  In  witness  whereof 
we  have  ordered  these  presents  to  be  issued,  signed  with 
our  hand  and  sealed  with  our  seal,  this  24th  day  of  Jan- 
uary, A.D.  1265. — MANFRED." 

Anselmo  did  not  expect  this  ;  noticing  that  the  king 
was  consulting  with  his  chosen  barons,  among  whom  was 
Count  Rinaldo,  he  felt  sure  that  the  judgment  of  God 
would  go  no  further.  Hence  it  is  not  to  be  told  how  un- 
expected was  to  him  the  king's  concession  of  the  trial 
by  arms:  he  listened  to  it  as  one  beside  himself;  yet 
the  prothonotary  had  hardly  finished  reading  the  letter- 
patent  than  he  thought  within  himself:  Rinaldo  must  have 
certainly  opposed  its  coming  to  this  pass  ;  at  least  he 
ought  have  done  so  ;  perhaps  he  had  no  means  of  prevent- 
ing it,  ...  but  might  he  not  have  advised  it  ? — why  ?  I  see 
no  motive  for  it ;  this  duel  must  not  take  place,  nor  shall 
it.  Let.  us  see  if  perchance  the  occasion  has  not  arrived 
for  placing  myself  under  the  protection  of  a  throne,  and 
him  under  that  of  the  axe.  .  .  .  No,-r-it  is  now  too  late, 
events  have  dragged  me  on  ;  in  spite  of  my  care  to  avoid 
the  fatal  union,  their  safety  is  essentially  joined  to  mine, 
nor  can  I  cause  the  axe  to  fall  on  the  neck  of  my  com- 
panions  without  losing  my  own  head  .  .  .  my  head  ! — here 
I  must  summon  all  my  shrewdness :  courage,  Anselmo, 
fail  not  to  yourself  in  this  extreme  danger  ;  sharpen  your 


316  The  Judgment  of  God. 

wits,  face  fortune  boldly  ;  she  is  propitious  to  the  bold, 
and  there  is  nothing  else  left  for  your  safety  but  audacity. 
In  the  same  manner  as  it  is  told  in  the  old  legends  of 
Gan  of  Mayence,  mentioned  in  the  epigraph  of  the  pres- 
ent chapter,  who,  condemned  by  Charlemagne  to  be 
quartered  for  having  betrayed  the  Christians  at  the  battle 
of  Roncesvalles,  when  Roland  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  paladins  of  France  were  killed,  when  approaching  his 
place  of  execution,  begged  of  the  emperor  only  one  favor, 
which,  with  the  exception  of  his  life,  having  been  granted, 
he  asked  to  be  quartered  by  four  green  horses  ;  a  ruse  which 
did  not  avail  that  traitor  more  than  his  availed  Count 
Anselmo,  for,  as  the  legend  states,  Malagigi,  by  art  of 
necromancy,  evoked  four  demons  in  the  form  of  green 
horses,  and  Manfred  by  his  authority  removed  all  the 
obstacles  set  forth  by  the  ill-starred  della  Cerra. 

"  My  king,"  with  a  modest  mien  spoke  Anselmo,  turn- 
ing to  Manfred, ""there  is  no  dove,  no  matter  how  white, 
that  cannot  be  contaminated  by  the  malignity  of  others  ; 
my  loyalty  to  you  can  be  demonstrated  by  thousands  of 
proofs  ;  nor  fear  any  offence  from  this  man,  who,  to  say 
the  least,  conies  among  us  unknown,  like  the  robber  .  .  ." 

"  I  might  reveal  myself,  and  then  what  would  become 
of  you,  Anselmo  ?  " 

"  I  am  speaking  to  my  king,  and  beg  ndt  to  be  inter- 
rupted." (Manfred  motioned  the  knight  to  be  silent.) 
"  Now  God  knows  how  willingly  I  would  meet  any  man 
in  the  world,  and  even  this  man,  to  defend  it  with  arms  ; 
but  belonging  to  an  illustrious  family,  honored  among  the 
noblest  in  the  kingdom,  the  laws  of  chivalry  forbid  me 
to  measure  my  sword  with  one  who  not  only  shows  no 
proof  that  he  is  a  knight,  but  keeping  himself  concealed 
within  his  armor,  may  be  attainted  with  infamous 
crimes .  .  ." 

"  I  infamous  ?     You  are  such  .  .  ." 

"  Or  banished  for  murder,  high  treason,  or  any  other 
cause  expressed  in  the  constitution  . .  ."  (The  unknown 
was  on  the  point  of  breaking  forth  ;  but  Manfred  restrained 
him  by  a  severe  look  ;  yet  he  kept  pressing,  with  a  hand 
trembling  with  rage,  the  hilt  of  his  sword.)  ".  .  .  so  that  I 


The  Judgment  of  God. 


317 


can  refuse  him  with  good  reason,  in  order  that,  with  the 
assistance  of  God,  in  whom  I  trust,  this  being  the  cause 
of  innocence,  hence  His  cause,  I  may  not  win  a  victory 
against  this  man,  more  degrading  than  a  defeat  would  be 
against  an  honorable  knight."  ' 

•"Count  della  Cerra,"  replied  .Manfred,  "know  that  a 
man  who  labors,  as  this  knight  has  done,  to  defend  the 
glory  of  our  house,  cannot  be  infamous,  nor  stained  with 
the  crimes  you  have  mentioned  ;  nevertheless,  since  we, 
like  you,  desire  that  the  laws  of  chivalry  may  be  preserved 
inviolate,  we  will  that  you  shall  not  fight  but  with  a 
knight."  So  saying,  he  ordered  Rogiero  to  approach  the 
altar:  as  he  obeyed,  "Kneel,"  he  added,  and  taking  the 
sword  from  his  side,  he  unsheathed  it,  and  struck  it  three 
times  upon  his  helmet,  and  continued  :  "  You  are  a  knight : 
your  actions  have  clearly  showed  that  you  have  long  known 
its  duties ;  we  doubt  not  that  you  will  do  honor  to  your 
new  rank."  (And  so  saying  he  fastened  again  his  sword 
with  his  own  hands.)  "Nor  shall  we  consent  that  you 
should  present  yourself  in  the  field  without  armorial  bear- 
ings. Constable  Rinaldo,  we  beg  of  you  to  favor  us,  by 
lending  him  your  armorial  shield  ;  we  assure  you  that  your 
or  and  gules  bars,  and  liot&*rgent,  will  not  grieve  at  this; 
for  if  it  was  alloweS  to  a  private  knight  to  carry  the  arms  of 
kings,  we  would  have  presented  him  with  our  own  eagle." 

Count  Caserta,  detaching  the  shield  from  his  seat, 
handed  it  obsequiously  to  Manfred,  who  fitted  it  on  the 
arm  of  the  new  knight.  Rogiero,  overcome  by  so  much 
demonstration  of  love,  could  not  articulate  any  other 
words  but  these  :  "  O  my  king,  thanks,  thanks  !  " 

"  Now,  Count  della  Cerra,"  said  Manfred,  "  you  see 
standing  against  you  this  man,  whom  by  no  exception  can 
you  now  refuse,  because,  if  even  he  had  been  contami- 
nated by  those  stigmas  of  traitor  or  assassin  that  you  have 
suggested,  the  order  of  chivalry  now  conferred  by  us  has 
remitted  them  all,  as  the  Holy  Baptism  does  of  sins." 

"  The  mouse  had  fallen  into  cruel  paws"  to  use  Dante's 
words.  The  more  Count  Cerra  strives  to  get  out  of  the 
meshes,  the  more  he  gets  entangled  in  them,  and  on  every 


318  The  Judgment  of  God. 

side  the  way  of  escape  is  barred.  Nevertheless,  he  has 
not  the  heart  to  give  up  the  attempt ;  imagining  that  the 
obstinacy  of  the  knight  in  keeping  himself  incognito  must 
involve  some  great  mystery,  and  that,  if  he  were  dis- 
covered, it  might  lead  to  some  chance  by  which  the 
duel  could  be  prevented,  he  has  recourse  to  a  new  ruse. 
Turning  to  Manfred,  he  said,  "  If  I  mistake  not,  accord- 
ing to  the  laws  of  chivalry,  the  choice  of  the  weapons 
belongs  to  me." 

"It  is  so.     Choose." 

"  Since  I  have  the  choice,  the  following  are  the  weapons 
which  I  select :  two  sharp  Genoese  knives  two  palms 
long,  a  round  shield,  a  woollen  mantle,  turban  on  the 
head,  and  a  garland  of  flowers." 

Many  were  astonished  at  the  unexpected  proposition 
of  Cerra,  considering  it  a  bold  one.  Others,  and  among 
these  Manfred,  with  a  sounder  judgment,  considered  it 
cowardly,  recognizing  in  this  "a  mere  pretext  to  prevent 
the  trial. 

"  We,*as  master  of  the  field,"  spoke  .the  king,  some- 
what provoked,  "  cannot  admit  these  weapons,  unusual 
in  the  customs  of  knighthood." 

"  I  also  cannot  in  any  other  way  remove  from  me  the 
shame  of  the  suspicion  .  .  ." 

"We  know  not,  Sir  Count,  if  it  is  greater  shame  to 
give  room  for  suspicion  by  one's  conduct,  than  the  appa- 
rent attempt  to  evade  the  trial  that  might  vindicate  that 
suspicion  ;  the  first  is  uncertain,  the  second  is  too  cer- 
tain .  .  ." 

"  Let  not  the  choice  of  weapons  deter  your  Serene 
Highness  from  granting  the  field,"  interrupted  the  un- 
named knight,  "  for  I  can  fight  unknown,  even  in  the 
manner  proposed  by  my  adversary." 

"  And  how  can  you  ?"  asked  the  king. 

"By  covering  my  face  with  a  black  silk  veil,  like  that 
which  hid  the  face  of  Count  -Anselmo,  when  he  led  me 
into  a  prison  of  Naples  to  let  me  know  my  father.5' 

Rinaldo,  who  was  listening  attentively  to  the  dispute, 
recognized  the  knight,  and  deeply  meditating,  wondered 
at  the  power  of  destiny  that  had  forced  him  to  hand  with 


The  Judgment  of  God.  319 

a  good-will  his  escutcheon  to  a  man  who,  many  years 
before,  he  had  solemnly  sworn,  should  never  bear  it. 

Anselmo  recognized  him  also,  and  he  found  no  other 
expedient  to  hide  his  fierce  trepidation,  than  crying, 
"Well,  then,  be  it  as  your  Serene  Highness  desires:  I 
consent  to  fight  with  the  usual  weapons  of  chivalry." 

"  Constable,"  then  said  Manfred,  "  the  grave  cares  of 
state  prevent  us  from  being  present  at  this  judgment  of 
Go'd ;  therefore  we  delegate  to  you  our  office  of  judge 
and  master  of  the  field,  and  expressly  ordain  that  you 
be  obeyed,  as  if  you  were  ourself.  Note  that  we 
have  only  granted  the  duel  at  first  blood ;  take  a  suf- 
ficient escort  to  repress  any  movement  in  favor  of  either 
of  the  combatants,  and  if  any  one  attempt  it,  let  him 
be  immediately  put  to  death ;  sustain  your  own  and 
our  honor ;  take  good  care  to  preserve  order ;  do  not 
forget  that  very  often  these  affairs  of  honor  have  ended 
in  shameful  assassinations.  I  appoint  you,  Giordano 
d'Angalone,  second  of  the  unknown  knight ;  and  you, 
Benincasa,  of  Count  Anselmo ;  fulfil  your  office  as 
valiant  knights.  Count  Lancia,  follow  us.  Constable, 
you  will  inform  us  in  our  palace  of  the  results  of  the 
judgment."  Saying  these  words,  he  dismissed  with  a  salute 
the  assembled  barons,  and  disappeared  with  Count  Lan- 
cia through  a  door  of  the  hall. 

"  Rinaldo,"  whispered  Count  della  Cerra,  seizing  the 
first  opportunity  of  approaching  him  while  they  were 
going  toward  the  lists  beyond  the  walls  of  Benevento, 
"  Rinaldo,  you  have  seen  with  how  much  constancy  I 
have  saved  your  life ;  now  it  stands  to  reason  that  you 
should  do  something  to  save  mine." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  this ;  be  of  good  cheer, 
Anselmo." 

"  Tell  me  how,  Rinaldo,  for  it  is  in  my  hands  to  ruin 
you  all .  .  ." 

"  And  yourself  with  us,  though  .  .  ." 

"  There  is  no  denying  this  :  but  what  does  the  proverb 
say,  count  ? — sorrow  divided  is  half  pleasure  ;  and  besides, 
who  knows  the  end  ?  One  consequence  may  bring 
another  .  . ." 


320  The  Judgment  of  God. 

"  You  say  wisely,  Anselmo.  Listen  :  you  must  not  be 
frightened  at  nothing ;  be  firm,  ward  off  the  first  blows, 
which  you  can  easily,  being  covered  all  over  with  mail 
armor  ;  then  I  will  raise  a  tumult  in  the  camp,  will  have 
your  adversary  killed,  who,  if  I  mistake  not,  jimst  be  .  .  ." 

"  The  son  of  your  wife  .  .  .  certainly." 

"Just  so  : — and  you  will  escape  .  .  ." 

"  Who  assures  me  that  you  will  do  this  ?  " 

"Who  can  assure  you,  Anselmo?  I  am  not  responsi- 
ble for  these  times,  in  which  faithless  men  can  no  longer 
trust  to  each  other." 

And  they  would  have  continued  speaking,  only  that  at 
this  moment  they  had  reached  the  field.  Rinaldo,  calling 
the  captain-at-arms,  secretly  ordered  him  to  place  his  sol- 
diers in  a  hollow  square,  and  allow  neither  of  the  com- 
batants to  go  out,  till  one  or  the  other  was  either  killed 
or  defeated  ;  and  if  either  dared,  to  kill  him  on  the  spot. 
Then  taking  aside  the  old  conspirator,  whose  name  the 
old  chronicle  omits,  he  said  to  him,  that,  should  the 
unknown  knight,  as  seemed  probable,  kill  or  wound 
Count  Anselmo,  he  with  the  boldest  of  his  companions 
should  break  through  the  files  of  the  soldiers,  who  would 
make  no  opposition,  and  endeavor  by  all  means  to  kill 
him  also.  The  knight,  hearing  the  order,  shook  his  hea"cl, 
saying:  "Very  well;  I  like  the  idea, — it  is  all  right; 
doubt  not  it  shall  be  done." 

In  the  meanwhile  the  seconds,  having  dismounted,  be- 
gan to  examine  their  principals,  as  was  customary,  to  see 
whether  they  were  fully  armed,  and  whether  their  armor 
was  properly  buckled,  and  no  part  of  it  weak  or  broken. 
Then  the  second  of  Anselmo  went  to  the  unknown  knight, 
and  verified  with  his  own  hands  whether,  under  the  silk 
cords  that  fastened  the  neck-piece  to  the  helmet,  there  was 
any  brass,  iron  or  any  other  metal ;  the  same  did  Count 
Angalone  with  Anselmo,  and  found  that  everything  was 
without  fraud.  This  done,  the  combatants  exchanged 
swords,  for  the  usage  was  that  each  should  fisrht  with  the 
sword  of  the  other ;  these  also  were  first  tried  by  the 
seconds  to  exclude  any  suspicion  that  they  might  be  fraud- 
ulently manufactured  with  base  metal ;  they  did  not 


The  Judgment  of  God.  321 

measure  their  length,  because  as  that  of  Anselmo  was 
shorter  than  that  of  Rogiero,  it  compensated  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  stature  that  this  latter  had  over  the  former. 

The  seconds  then  placed  the  ends  of  a  little  cord,  per- 
haps four  yards  long,  in  the  hands  of  the  combatants,  and, 
remounting,  visited  the  whole  field  to  see  whether  there 
were  any  cavities  or  mounds  which  might  prevent  the 
knights  from  stepping  backwards  :  after  which  they  re- 
turned to  their  principals,  and  made  a  sign  to  the  con- 
stable that  all  was  ready. 

The  constable  sent  forward  a  herald,  who,  with  the  sword 
of  justice,  cut  the  cord,  and  the  knights  began  the  assault. 

Shall  we  relate  the  incidents  of  this  duel  ?  Shall 
we  narrate  what  is  so  often  described  in  Italian  or 
foreign  poems?  We  will  not  do  it;  first,  because  any 
one  who  would  desire  such  things  would  find  a  wonder- 
ful description  of  them  in  the  Jerusalem  Delivered  of 
Tasso,  and  another  equally  wonderful  in  the  Lombards 
at  the  First  Crusade  of  Tommaso  Grossi,  (a  new  glory  of 
Italy,  second  to  none7  and  if  he  desired  it,  easily  the 
first ;)  second,  because  the  events  of  ours  were  very  com- 
mon-place. Rogiero  was  far  superior,  both  in  strength 
and  agility,  to  Count  Anselmo  ;  yet  this  latter  kept  on 
the  defensive,  trusting  in  the  assistance  promised.  But  he 
could  not  sustain  it  long  :  a  little  time  having  already 
passed,  and,  noticing  that  no  one  moved  to  his  rescue  ac- 
cording to  the  agreement,  he  supposed  that  Rinaldo,  hav- 
ing fallen  into  his  habitual  abstraction,  had  forgotten  it : 
hence  he  turned  his  face  towards  where  he  was,  to  rouse 
him,  or  to  induce  some  of  the  conspirators  to  remind  him 
of  it.  Useless  attempt :  not  one  of  all  those  that  had  gath- 
ered there  made  even  the  slightest  motion  of  raising  a 
hand.  Rogiero  noticed  the  opportunity  for  him  to  advance 
a  step,  strike  a  goodly  blow,  and  end  the  business.  Never- 
theless, as  it  usually  happens,  feeling  stronger  than  his  ad- 
versary, he  wanted  him  to  experience,  before  death,  the 
more  terrible  pangs  of  fear.  Thus  the  duel  continued  : 
Rogiero  was  unhurt ;  Anselmo,  partly  disarmed,  had  his 
hauberk  broken  in  two  or  three  places,  his  neck-plate  bent, 
but  there  was  no  blood  shed  yet :  indeed  he  groaned  with 
14* 


322  The  Judgment  of  God. 

pain  on  account  of  the  heavy  blows,  which,  added  to 
surprise  at  not  being  rescued,  and  fear  of  the  aid  arriving 
too  late,  caused  him  to  falter,  and  to  lose  ground.  At  every 
step  he  turned  his  head  desperately  towards  Caserta,  who 
stood  there  immovable,  and  as  many  times  offered  the 
chance  to  his  adversary  to  despatch  him  at  once  :  in  truth, 
Rogiero  at  last  tired  of  that  game,  watched  his  chance, 
struck  a  powerful  left-hand  blow,  hit  Anselmo  in  the  silk 
cords  that  fastened  the  neck-plate  to  the  helmet,  and 
knocking  those  pieces  of  armor  to  the  ground,  wounded 
him  in  the  throat.  Anselmo  dropped  senseless  to  the 
ground.  Whether  terror  or  pain  took  away  his  senses, 
we  know  not ;  certainly  they  were  both  terrible ;  his  face 
turned  yellow  as  gold,  his  forehead  livid,  his  lips  con- 
vulsed ;  from  the  open  wound  the  blood  spurted  out  im- 
petuously, red  and  thick,  sure  sign  that  the  artery  was  cut 
— an  incurable  wound.  The  spectators  raised  a  cry,  and 
breaking  through  the  files  of  soldiers,  rushed  at  great 
speed  towards  the  fallen  one.  Rogiero,  turning  around, 
noticed  that  the  conspiring  barons,  more  than  all  others, 
strove  to  get  near  him,  and  suspected  treachery ;  ap- 
proaching his  second,  he  said:  "Now  save  me,  valiant 
knight,  or  I  am  a  dead  man." 

"  And  what  makes  you  doubt  our  faith  ?  "  asked  Gior- 
dano d'Angalone,  blushing. 

"  Faith  is  already  broken :  why  did  they  force  the  files  ? 
I  tell  you  they  will  murder  me,  and  you  will  be  responsi- 
ble for  my  life  in  the  face  of  men  and  Heaven." 

"  May  God  forbid  such  infamy  !  Mount  behind  me,  for 
my  Sorrel  has  saved  me  from  greater  dangers  than  the 
present." 

Rogiero,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  with  a  won- 
derful leap,  armed  as  he  was,  mounted  astride  on  the 
back  of  the  horse;  Giordano  d'Angalone,  with  voice  and 
spurs,  lanced  him  at  a  full  gallop  where  he  saw  the  least 
crowd.  At  that  sudden  tramping,  at  that  furious  pace, 
no  man  showed  lameness :  they  all  scampered  right  and 
left,  leaving  the  space  free,  through  which  the  generous 
steed  soon  carried  off  the  riders  out  of  all  danger. 

When  they  arrived  near  the  gate  of  Benevento,  Rogiero, 


The  Judgment  of  God.  323 

who  had  not  been  able  to  speak  thus  far  on  account  of 
the  rapidity  of  the  horse,  dismounted,  and  offering  his 
hand  to  Count  Giordano,  said  to  him  :  "  Count,  I  know 
too  well  that  generous  actions  need  no  reward,  for  they 
are  sufficient  reward  unto  themselves  ;  nevertheless  know 
that  I  owe  you  my  life,  and  that  it  will  be  a  happy  day  for 
me  when  I  can  .  .  ." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  interrupted  Giordano;  "don't 
you  wish  that  I  should  conduct  you  to  the  king?" 

"  Time  is  pressing,  count,  and  I  have  much  to  do ;  I 
cannot  .  .  ." 

"  Save  your  honor,  what  sort  of  loyalty  is  yours  to  King 
Manfred  ?  You  know  the  traitors,  and  yet  you  do  not  re- 
veal them  to  him  ?  .  .  ." 

"  I  cannot.  I  have  revealed  to  him  all  that  was  per- 
mitted to  me  :  my  silence  proceeds  from  such  a  series  of 
events,  that  I,  I  myself,  who  experience  all  the  weight  of 
their  atrocious  reality,  hardly  believe  them  credible.  This 
only  I  beg  you  to  assure  him,  that  I  have  to-day  killed  the 
very  worst  of  his  traitors  ;  yet  many  others  remain.  Tell 
him  to  distrust,  and  be  on  the  watch  against  some  of  those 
he  trusts  the  most,  for  he  is  threatened  with  absolute 
ruin.  .  ." 

"  The  safety  of  my  king  then  requires  that  I  should  not 
let  you  go  .  .  ." 

"  No,  count ;  you  would  do  me  harm,  and  would  not 
benefit  your  king ;  let  me  go ;  for  every  step,  every 
thought  of  mine,  will  be  for  the  preservation  of  the  house 
of  Manfred." 

"  We  should  lose  a  valiant  companion,  the  king  a  loyal 
knight  .  .  ." 

"  Neither  he  nor  you  will  lose  me ;  I  am  going  to  procure 
for  him  four  hundred  men-at-arms,  and  a  famous  leader." 

"  And  where  will  you  conduct  them  ?  " 

"  Tell  him,  to  San  Germano  ;  there  we  will  meet,  count ; 
perhaps  you  will  know  me  then,  and  perhaps,  danger  be- 
ing then  passed,  it  will  be  a  delight  and  pleasure  for  me 
to  relate  to  you  my  past  labors  and  the  dangers  incurred. 
Farewell,  count  ;  my  homage  to  Manfred." 

So  saying,  he  moved  off  with  hasty  steps.    Count  Gior- 


324  The  Judgment  of  God. 

dano  went  sorrowfully  to  report  these  events  to  Man- 
fred  

Count  Rinaldo  having  ordered  Anselino's  wound  to  be 
bandaged,  had  him  placed  on  a  litter  and  carried  by 
another  road  to  his  palace.  On  the  way  to  it  he 
ordered  the  captain-at-arms  that,  after  the  litter  was  within, 
he  should  allow  no  one  ingress  into  the  palace  ;  which 
was  accordingly  done.  The  old  conspirator,  seeing  that 
he  could  not  enter,  nor  having  been  able  until  now  to 
speak  with  Rinaldo,  pushed  through  the  crowd,  until 
finally  he  approached  him,  and  pulling  him  by  the  sleeve, 
obliged  him  to  turn  around. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  asked  the  count,  sternly. 

"  Count,  remember  that  according  to  all  rules  he  ought 
not  to  live  .  .  ." 

"  That  is  my  affair  ;  would  that  you  had  fulfilled  your 
duty  with  the  other,  as  you  ought !  " 

The  old  man  was  about  replying,  but  Rinaldo  turned 
his  back  upon  him,  and  followed  the  litter  that  had  already 
entered  the  palace.  % 

Rinaldo  alone,  near  the  bed  where  lies  the  wounded 
Anselmo,  counts  every  minute  of  his  life,  and,  noticing 
that  he  is  gradually  passing  away,  he  hesitates  to  hasten 
its  consummation.  Suddenly,  however,  whilst  the  dying 
man  draws  in  a  long  breath,  which  Rinaldo  thinks  his 
last,  uttering  a  deep  groan,  he  awakes. 

"Anselmo,  my  friend,  how  do  you  feel  ?" 

Anselmo,  opening  his  eyes,  recognizes  Caserta,  and 
murmurs  to  himself :  "  Now  I  am  truly  lost." 

"  I  am  Rinaldo.  Why  do  you  call  yourself  lost,  An- 
selmo ?" 

"  Satan  is  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  .  .  .  waits  for  my 
soul ;  ...  he  is  right :  ...  it  is  his  property.  ...  I  saw  well 
that  you  were  Caserta  .  .  ." 

"  O  my  friend,  God  knows  that  I  feel  strongly  for  your 
suffering  .  .  ." 

"I  know  it,  my  friend,  I  know  it." 

"  I  lose  the  most  faithful  .  .  ." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  am  I  to  die  ?  am  I  so  near 
death.  .?" 


The  Judgment  of  God.  325 

"You  are." 

"Oh!  then,  in  charity,  send  fora  confessor;  let  him 
come  immediately." 

"A  confessor  !  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  a 
confessor  ?  " 

"  Who  lives  badly,  ends  badly  ;  .  .  .  I  know  it : ...  yet 
a  hope  in  God  .  .  ." 

"  Nonsense  ! " 

"  No,  ...  I  tell  you  no  ;  ...  the  precepts  of  religion, 
which  I  learned  when  a  child,  awake  in  my  mind,  and 
bid  me  not  despair.  Oh  !  how  beautiful  Faith  appears 
to  us  in  the  hour  of  death  !  the  little  good  I  have  done 
flatters  me  that  I  may  be  pardoned,  and  ascend  to 
heaven  .  .  ." 

"  You  are  losing  your  wits,  Anselmo  ;  I  see  that  you 
are  getting  childish  :  what  are  you  talking  about  para- 
dise ?  Where  is  your  strong  mind,  your  unbelief  in  the 
Creator  ?  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  said  it — Satan  is  at  the  head  of  the  bed.  You 
come  to  hasten  me  to  perdition  ;  ...  go  away,  I  command 
you,  I  beg  you  ;  ...  in  the  name  of  God,  go  away  ;  .  .  .  no, 
come  near,  for  I  may  even  persuade  you ;  .  .  .  Rinaldo, 
have  pity  on  me  ;  death  is  a  great  mystery  !  would  that  I 
were  able  to  tell  you  the  thousandth  part  of  what  I  feel, 
of  what  I  see  .  .  .  raise  your  eyes,  do  you  not  see  the 
glory  of  heaven  ?  " 

"  I  see  nothing  but  the  roof." 

"  Yet  there  is  a  light  brighter  than  the  sun,  a  sad  mel- 
ody ;  there  is  Christ  .  .  .  Christ  with  the  thunderbolts  that 
flash  in  His  terrible  hands.  ...  A  confessor,  Rinaldo,  a 
confessor  .  .  ." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  a  confessor  at  this 
hour  ?  Come,  have  courage  ;  what  do  you  think  death  is  ? 
It  is  a  bitter  drink  !  shut  your  eyes,  swallow  it  without 
being  frightened  ;  once  down  the  throat,  it  is  all  over." 

"  Oh  !  I  want  to  confess  my  sins." 

"  But  reflect,  you  cannot  confess  your  sins  without  im- 
plicating your  companions  and  myself  .  .  ." 

"  And  do  you  wish  that  I  should  lose  my  soul  to  save 
your  body  ?  " 


326  The  Judgment  of  God. 

"  And  do  you  expect  that  I  should  lose  my  head  for 
the  sake  of  your  soul  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  this  is  torture  !  This  is  barbarity  !  I  will 
scream  so  loud  that  somebody  will  hear  me.  .  .  ." 

'•You  shall  not  scream,"  thought  Caserta  to  himself; 
and  that  was  his  death  sentence  :  rising,  he  placed  his 
hand  under  his  doublet,  and  approached  the  dying  man  : 
"  Come  now,  calm  yourself,  my  friend,"  he  said  to  him  ; 
"  since  this  is  your  desire  I  will  content  you." 

"  Yes  ?  many  thanks.  .  .  .  May  God  reward  you  this 
very  moment  ...  go  quick." 

"  I  will  go  ;  only  I  beg  you  not  to  reveal  the  names .  .  ." 

"  I  promise  it  to  you." 

"  Be  of  good  cheer." 

"  I  will,  ...  but  go." 

"I  am  going. — And  .  .  .  what  do  you  feel  here?" 
asked  Caserta,  touching  with  his  left  hand  the  wound. 

"  Pain  ! " 

"  And  here  ?  "  running  his  fingers  down  and  pressing 
the  left  rib  ... 

"  Pain  !  " 

"And  here?" 

"  D  .  .  .  eath  !  " 

Count  Rinaldo,  swiftly  thrusting  his  right  hand  where 
the  left  was,  had  plunged  a  poniard  into  the  heart  of  the 
wretched  Anselmo,  and  immediately  stepped  back  not 
to  be  stained  by  the  blood,  and  stood  with  stupid  curiosity 
contemplating  the  last  struggles  of  his  victim. 

When  these  ceased,  he  withdrew  the  poniard,  and  mur- 
mured, "  Poor  Anselmo  !  How  ha,ve  you  ended  !  Indeed, 
your  long  services,  our  ancient  friendship,  did  not  deserve 
this  ;  no,  indeed  they  did  not  !  nor  was  I  angry  with  you, 
nor  hated  you  ;  but  I  found  you  in  my  way,  and  I  destroyed 
you.  Unwary  man  !  did  you  not  know  that  my  breath 
poisons,  my  look  burns,  my  touch  destroys  ?  why  did  you 
thrust  yourself  in  my  path  ?  I  have  killed  you  ;  .  .  .  one  of 
us  had  to  die  ;  you  have  lost  the  game, — it  is  your  fault ; 
if  I  had  lost  it,  it  would  have  been  my  fault  :  you  said  so 
much  that  your  doctrines  finally  penetrated  my  heart  ;  ac- 
cording to  your  theories,  1  ought  to  have  abandoned  you 


The  Judgment  of  God.  327 

long  since,  for  it  is  now  a  long  time  since  you  have  been 
perfectly  useless  to  me :  yet  1  have  waited  till  you  became 
dangerous  to  me, .  .  .  therefore  you  cannot  complain  ; ...  it 
is  your  own  work  . .  .  perhaps  I  have  learned  more  than  you 
wished  ;  but  let  the  glory  of  having  made  an  excellent 
disciple  comfort  you :  I  am  perfectly  convinced  that 
when  your  soul  shall  be  freed  from  this  sudden  terror,  it 
cannot  condemn  me, — perhaps  it  will  be  the  first  to 
praise  me  ;  now  you  have  ceased  to  labor,  you  owe  me 
for  your  rest  and  quietude  ;  you  have  gone  where  '  the 
wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  be  at  rest ; 
there  the  prisoners  rest  together,  they  hear  not  the  voice 
of  the  oppressor ;  the  small  and  great  are.  there,  and  the 
servant  is  free  from  his  master'  .  .  ." 

All  of  a  sudden,  with  a  terrible  crash,  the  glass  of  a 
window  in  that  room  violently  struck,  fell  in  fragments  on 
the  pavement,  and  an  arrow,  flying  swiftly  over  the  head 
of  Caserla,  stuck  fast  in  the  wooden  roof. 

"  Vengeance  of  God  !"  broke  forth  Count  Rinaldo  with 
a  wild  cry,  and  crossing  his  arms  over  his  chest  he  stood 
convulsively  agitated,  lowering  his  looks  to  the  ground. 
He  stood  thus  a  little  while,  then,  his  fear  diminishing,  he 
opened  his  eyes,  raised  them  hesitatingly,  and  saw  the 
arrow,  which  had  a  paper  fastened  to  its  shaft  ;  he 
mounted  upon  a  stool,  stretched  his  hand  and  took  it ;  the 
writing  said  :  "  Count  Caserta,  consider  that  Eternal  Jus- 
tice punishes  crimes  and  you  have  the  example  under  your 
eyes ;  desist  from  your  conspiracy  and  let  it  be  a  punish- 
ment to  you  to  know  that  you  have  done  wrong  fill  now  ; 
otherwise  a  word  from  me  can  cause  you  to  die  the  death 
of  traitors." 

"They  threaten!"  murmured  Rinaldo,  and  grasping 
again  his  poniard,  he  stared  around  with  a  savage  look ; 
"  but  I  see  no  one  ;  "  and  he  added,  looking  at  the  corpse, 
"  nor  is  there  anything  more  for  me  to  do  here." 

Then  he  covered  the  dead  with  the  bedclothes,  and  left 
the  room  with  the  steps  of  sin.  Reaching  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  he  met  the  king,  who  with  several  court  officers 
had  come  to  visit  the  wounded  man,  when  he,  hastily  ap- 
proaching him,  said  :  "  My  king,  you  have  come  in  vain." 


328  The  Judgment  of  God. 

"  Why  so,  Count  Rinaldo  ?     How  is  the  sufferer  ?" 

"  He  is  dead." 

"  Dead  !  Was  the  wound  so  mortal  that  it  did  not 
spare  him  an  hour  ?  " 

"  O  my  good  master,  it  was  frightful,  and  cut  nearly 
one-half  of  his  neck  ;  the  last  words  he  said  were,  that  I 
should  ask  your  forgiveness  for  him .  .  ." 

"Then  he  was  betraying  me  ?  " 

"  It  seems  so." 

"  Lucky  for  him  that  he  died  ;  thus  he  has  spared  me 
the  pain  of  sending  him  to  the  gallows  .  .  ." 

"Save  your  honor.  Serene  Highness,"  interrupted  the 
courtier  who  had  advised  the  religious  duel,  "  you  should 
have  said  to  decapitate  him,  because,  according  to  the 
constitution  of  the  kingdom,  such  is  the  privilege  of  the 
nobles." 

Manfred  smiled,  and  Caserta  thought :  "  I  have  spared 
you  the  pain  of  executing  Anselmo,  but  I  have  deprived 
you  of  the  pleasure  of  killing  me  and  my  companions, — 
your  joy  is  very  pleasing  to  me." 

The  king,  seeing  that  his  visit  was  of  no  avail,  returned 
to  his  palace,  where  among  other  things  he  ordered 
Caserta  to  have  the  body  of  Count  della  Cerra  buried 
privately. 


The  Flight.  329 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE    FLIGHT. 

Tu  vedrai  che  lo  indugio  e  la  dimora 
Che  si  frappone  alia  vendetta  accresce 
Questa  gran  piaga  ch'c,  da  se  mortale. 

ARRENOPIA,  Tragedia  Antica. 

For  thou  wilt  see  that  vengeance,  long  delayed, 
Increases  that  great  wound — mortal  before. 

M.  G.  M. 

E  cannot  assure  our  amiable  reader,  who  has  so 
kindly  followed  us  to  this  point  of  our  history, 
if  the  chronicle  from  which  we  have  derived  the 
preceding  narrative  is  or  is  not  complete,  since, 
as  the  pages  are  not  numbered,  we  are  unable  to  ascertain 
whether  any  are  wanting ;  the  truth  is,  that,  omitting 
to  state  when  and  how  Charles  left  Rome,  by  what  road, 
and  whether  he  met  any  obstacles  in  his  way,  without 
any  further  explanation,  it  runs  on  to  the  events  which 
happened  after  the  famous  passage  of  the  Garigliano  ex- 
ecuted by  the  French  army ;  so  that,  in  order  to  add 
a  supplement  to  this  space,  we  will  endeavor  to  nar- 
rate, as  best  we  can,  what  happened  in  the  interval. 
After  having  been  crowned  at  Rome  on  the  day  of  Epiph- 
any, the  Count  of  Provence,  without  any  delay,  set  for- 
ward, both  in  order  to  avail  himself  of  that  first  enthu- 
siasm of  his  troops,  and  also  because,  if  he  delayed,  he 
would  have  had  no  money  to  pay  them  ;  and  Pope  Cle- 
ment, for  many  reasons,  principal  among  which  was  that 
he  himself  did  not  have  any,  could  not  lend  any  to  him. 
The  histories  of  the  times  do  not  tell  us  whether  Charles 
did  what  all  the  other  captains  both  before  and  after  him 
have  done  when  marching  to  the  conquest  of  the  king- 
dom of  Naples,  namely,  divide  their  armies  in  two,  sending 
one  along  the  sea-shore,  and  the  other  along  the  foot  of 
the  Apennines,  with  the  intention  of  uniting  at  Capua  and 


330  The  Flight. 

then  marching  together  on  Naples.  Rather  it  seems  that 
he  acted  differently  ;  and  unwilling  to  separate  his  troops, 
he  approached  with  his  entire  strength  by  way  of  Frosinone 
to  the  pass  of  Cepperano  :  perhaps  he  feared  to  meet  too 
strong  a  resistance  at  Fondi  and  Itri,  which  fortified 
places  he  would  have  to  pass  if  he  came  along  the  coast, 
and  thought  that,  even  if  he  succeeded  in  getting  over  these 
two  passes,  there  would  have  remained  a  third  one,  and 
the  most  difficult  of  all — that  of  the  Volturno,  near  Capua  ; 
which,  as  the  river  was  very  deep,  and  the  bridge  defended 
by  both  ancient  and  new  towers,  seemed  impregnable. 
Passing  through  the  Roman  Campania,  the  people  not  only 
did  not  oppose  him,  but  gave  him  all  aid  and  assistance 
as  to  the  most  beloved  son  and  champion  of  Holy  Church. 
The  Archbishop  of  Cosenza,  Bartolommeus  Pignatelli, 
accompanied  him  as  apostolic  legate,  blessing  any  one  who 
joined  him  in  the  enterprise  against  Manfred,  and  ready 
to  excommunicate  any  one  who  would  dare  to  take  his  part. 
So  great  was  the  authority  of  his  preaching,  that  many 
people  of  the  country  came  from  every  part,  willing  to  be 
killed  in  favor,  as  they  said  of  religion  against  a  heretic. 
The  people  of  Mount  San  Giovanni,  that  in  1494  fought 
so  nobly  against  the  army  of  France  with  so  much  peril 
to  Charles  VIII.,  received  with  infinite  joy  the  fatal 
Anjou,  and  aided  him  with  spontaneous  subsidies.  Even 
the  weather  (for  when  fortune  takes  her  favorites  in  hand, 
she  never  does  things  by  halves),  that,  as  it  was  the  month 
of  February,  ought  to  have  been  rainy,  was  as  clear  as 
June;  the  sun,  unusually  warm,  seemed  glad  to  illuminate 
with  resplendent  light  the  steps  of  the  man  of  destiny.  So 
that  the  army  of  Charles,  like  people  anxious  not  to  be  too 
late  at  a  feast,  on  the  fourth  of  the  month  arrived  on  the 
banks  of  the  Garigliano.  This  principal  river  of  all  the 
kingdom  ofNaples,  that  has  its  source  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  Lake  Celano,  passing  through  Sora,  Cepperano, 
and  Pontecorvo,  falls  finally  into  the  Tyrrhenean  Sea,  form- 
ing a  natural  boundary  between  the  Roman  Campania  and 
Terra  cli  Lavoro.  They  say  that  its  waters  run  for  eighty-five 
miles,  and  they  affirm  that  it  can  be  navigated  for  twenty- 
five  above  the  sea ;  yet  at  Cepperano  and  at  Castelliiccio  is 


The  Flight.  331 

not  so  deep  but  that  it  can  be  forded.  Manfred,  who  well 
knew  the  importance  of  the  place,  sent  there,  immediately 
after  the  meeting  at  Benevento,  the  Constable  Rinaldo, 
Count  of  Caserta,  to  whom  he  added  Giordano  Lancia,  with 
many  companies  of  Apulian  troops,  so  as  to  defend  the 
pass  :  he  ordered  them  not  to  come  to  any  engagement ;  if 
assailed,  to  strive  to  plunge  the  enemy  into  the  river.  The 
Svvabian  knew  that  delay  would  have  been  more  useful  to 
him  than  victory  itself,  and  the  enterprise  of  Charles  would 
result  in  a  flight,  if  he  could  not  engage  soon  in  a  battle  ; 
for  he  lacked  money,  the  first  and  perhaps  the  only  sinews 
of  war.  He  did  not  omit  the  slightest  prevision  required 
of  an  expert  military  commander  :  the  place  easily  defensi- 
ble, the  sufficient  troops,  all  affectionate  to  him,  famous 
for  discipline  and  valor,  the  loyalty  of  the  Counts  of 
Caserta  and  Lancia,  to  whom  he  had  committed  the  com- 
mand, encouraged  him  to  hope  well.  At  this  point  the 
chronicle  resumes  the  narrative,  and  relates  that  on  the 
evening  of  the  fifth  of  February,  while  Manfred  was  return- 
ing to  Benevento,  from  which  city  he  had  gone  out  to 
meet  a-  troop  of  soldiers  that  were  to  be  sent  to  him  from 
Apulia,  he  was  complaining  of  the  negligence  of  the  gov- 
ernors in  forwarding  them,  and  of  the  slowness  of  the  lead- 
ers in  bringing  them  up,  showing  himself  more  than  usually 
sad ;  when,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  horizon,  he  saw  a  big 
black  cloud,  that  overshadowing  the  setting  sun,  obscured 
it  to  the  sight.  What  was  the  relation  which  passed  in  that 
moment  between  that  scene  and  the  thoughts  of  Manfred, 
we  know  not ;  but  he  stood  contemplating  it  with  a  mys- 
terious calm,  and  immersed  in  profound  meditation,  much 
more  than  man  would  use  in  like  cases.  The  outward  rim 
of  the  cloud,  however,  shone  with  the  color  of  blood,  and 
from  it  darted  several  rays,  that,  spreading  widely  through 
the  hemisphere,  tinged  with  red  every  object  that  the  eye 
could  discern  ;  from  time  to  time  a  puff"  of  wind  shook 
violently  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  flew  over  the  ground, 
carrying  before  it  a  whirlwind  of  dust  and  straws;  the 
birds  flew  lower  and  lower,  as  if  foretelling  the  clouding 
up  of  the  heavens,  and  announcing  with  their  voices  the  ap- 
proaching storm.  Giordano  d'Angalone,  who  was  riding 


332  The  Flight. 

near  the  king,  thinking  that  he  divined  Manfred's  thoughts, 
said  :   "  This  evening  the  sun  dies  before  his  time." 

Manfred,  eying  him  with  knitted  brow,  replied  :  "  It 
dies,  but  brilliantly."  And  turning  his  eyes,  which  he 
did,  to  glance  through  the  valley,  he  exclaimed  :  "  Oh ! 
why  does  that  courier  hurry  so  ?  truly  he  must  bring  some 
bad  news." 

The  knights  that  accompanied  Manfred  directed  their 
eyes  to  the  point  where  he  was  looking,  strained  their 
sight  as  much  as  possible,  but,  unable  to  discern  anything, 
said  together  : 

"  Save  your  grace,  you  must  be  mistaken  .  .  ." 

"  Mistaken  !  Look  there, — there  on  the  left,  near  the 
devil's  rock,"  and  he  pointed  with  his  finger,  "in  the  di- 
rection of  the  chapel  of  our  Lady  of  Tears,  do  you  not 
see  a  man  striving  to  "gain  the  summit  of  the  hill?" 

They  tried  again  more  eagerly  than  before,  but  after 
repeated  efforts  they  replied  :  "  We  see  nothing  at  all." 

Nevertheless,  at  the  order  of  Manfred,  they  all  stopped 
on  that  hill ;  nor  had  they  to  wait  long  before  they  saw  a 
dark  spot,  that  seemed  to  detach  itself  from  the  extreme 
horizon,  and  by  degrees  enlarge  as  it  approached.  They 
all  wondered  much  at  the  circumstance,  and  all  agreed  to 
attribute  it  to  a  miracle  ;  and  truly,  says  the  chronicle,  it 
was  not  without  the  will  of  God,  Who,  purifying  his  intel- 
lectual and  bodily  faculties,  foretold  to  his  wearied  soul  the 
sorrow  of  the  approaching  misfortune  ;  which  we  will  not 
affirm,  although  among  many  nations  of  the  earth  there 
existed,  and  perhaps  still  exists,  the  belief  that  the  predes- 
tined have  the  gift  of  prophecy,  and  that  by  certain  signs  in 
the  eyes  one  could  tell  the  man,  who,  before  closing  them 
forever,  has  received,  as  if  in  recompense  of  his  prem- 
ature death,  the  power  of  foreseeing  the  events  that  are 
to  happen.  Now  they  clearly  distinguish  the  courier  :  he 
had  his  mouth  covered  by  a  scarf,  in  order  that,  in  the  fast 
running,  the  air  might  not  be  prevented  from  entering  free- 
ly into  his  lungs  ;  he  held  his  spurs  more  than  half  transfixed 
in  the  horse's  sides,  for  either  distracted  by  other  thoughts 
he  did  not  notice  that  continuing  thus  he  would  kill  the 
animal,  or  else,  calculating  that,  on  account  of  the 


The  Flight.  333 

fatigue  incurred,  he  could  not  endure  much  longer,  he 
desired  that  these  last  moments  of  life  might  be  consumed 
in  a  desperate  effort  to  reach  his  destination  ; — brutal,  but 
not  unusual  cruelty  among  us,  who  call  ourselves  images 
of  the  Creator  !  The  poor  beast  breathed  in  a  most  fear- 
ful manner,  his  mouth  was  stained  with  bloody  foam,  his 
sides  dripping  with  blood,  his  body  all  in  a  sweat ;  yet  he 
flies  with  such  fearful  pace,  that  he  could  hardly  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  eyes  in  the  rapid  strides  which  he  takes  from 
the  last  cloud  of  dust  to  the  new  one  which  he  raised  with 
his  tramping.  Arriving  to  within  forty  paces  of  Manfred, 
he  stumbled  down  with  a  long  stride,  and  dropping  his  head 
lay  immovable  :  the  courier,  pulling  the  bridle,  spurring 
harder  than  before,  attempted  to  raise  him  up  ; — it  was 
labor  lost.  "  You  might  have  waited  another  forty  steps 
to  die  !  "  murmured  the  courier,  dismounting,  and,  without 
even  deigning  him  a  look,  advanced  on  foot  toward  the 
king ;  he  kneeled  panting  at  his  stirrup,  but  overcome  by 
fatigue  fell  headlong  on  the  ground.  Manfred  dismounted, 
raised  him  tenderly,  seated  him,  and  with  his  own  hand 
unloosened  his  belt,  that  he  might  breathe  more  easily. 
Revived  after  a  short  rest,  the  courier  began  sorrowfully  : 
"  O  King  Manfred,  I  bring  you  bad  news." 

"It  is  now  long  since  we  have  expected  good  ones." 
And  thus  saying,  Manfred  put  his  elbow  on  the  saddle 
of  his  horse,  and  let  his  head  fall  on  the  palm  of  the  hand. 
'  I  am  about  to  relate  a  great  misfortune,  my  king." 
'And  we  are  prepared  to  listen  to  it  :  relate  it." 
'The  Provengals  have  crossed  the  Garigliano  .  .  ." 
'  What !— Thou  liest !  " 

'  So  would  it  please  the  Holy  Virgin  and  San  Germano 
that  you  had  justly  given  me  the  lie,  as  I  would  not  call 
you  to  answer  for  it." 

"  Why  have  they  fought  ?  Had  they  not  orders  to 
avoid  a  battle  ?  Behold,  he  who  uses  arms  without  wis- 
dom,' lays  them  down  with  loss  ;  .  .  .  those  men  are  re- 
sponsible for  the  bloodshed  .  .  ." 

"O  my  sovereign,  what  do  you  say  about  blood?  an 
eternal  disgrace  has  contaminated  the  honor  of  the  barons 
of  the  kingdom." 


334  The  Flight. 

"  How ! " 

"  Charles  crossed  the  river  without  striking  a  blow." 
"  God !  ..."  broke  forth  Manfred  with  a  loud  cry, 
grinding  his  teeth  and  raising  his  head,  and  let  fall  such 
a  hard  blow  with  his  fist  on  the  back  of  the  horse,  that 
this  latter  .started  to  run  ;  but  he  thrust  his  right  hand 
in  his  mane,  and  with  a  convulsive  strength  forced  him  to 
stop  ;  then  interrogated  the  courier  :  "  Where  is  Caserta  ? 
Where  is  Lancia  ?  Is  this  the  faith  of  relatives  ?  Have 
they  survived  to  such  a  shame  ?  If  they  have,  ...  I 
leave  them  life  for  a  punishment." 

"  Alas,  my  king  !  it  was  Caserta  who  betrayed  you." 
"  Who  ?  Caserta  ?  Have  you  named  Caserta  ?  Why 
has  he  betrayed  me  ?  What  had  I  done  to  him  ?  Did 
I  not  honor  him  ?  Did  I  not  call  him  to  share  my  gov- 
ernment ?  Did  I  not  appoint  him,  after  me,  the  first 
officer  of  the  kingdom  ?  Did  I  not  give  him  the  preference 
over  my  own  relatives?  Rinaldo  !  my  friend!  Why? 
Ah  !  what  a  flash  of  old  remembrance  !  Lady  Spina  ! 
Time  has  reduced  even  her  very  bones  to  ashes,  but  has 
not  erased  the  offence  ?  He  who  offends  forgets ;  but 
the  offended  binds  his  memory  with  an  iron  chain,  and 
places  on  his  soul  the  weight  of  revenge :  is  not  revenge 
the  gangrene  of  the  heart  ?  I  have  erred  ;  miserable  is 
the  king  that  offends ;  more  miserable  he  that  offends  and 
does  not  kill !  Rinaldo  has  done  his  part,  because  we 
failed  in  ours  :  he  who  wears  a  cro\vn  should  never  err  ; 
we  are  paying  a  very  bitter  penalty  for  it,  but  yet  a  due 
atonement.  Ought  we?  .  .  .  A  Manfred?  .  r.  No,  we 
ought  not  have  done  it ;  but  whom  God  wishes  to  destroy 
He  first  renders  mad.'J  * 

These  last  words  escaped  brokenly  from  the  lips  of  the 
king,  for  passion  had  palsied  his  tongue  ;  his  eyes  sunk 
under  his  eyebrows,  a  livid  hue  colored  his  forehead,  his 
muscles  swelled,  all  his  countenance  was  so  distorted  that 
the  bystanders  shuddered  with  terror  ;  he  covered  his  face 
with  both  his  hands,  and  after  meditating  a  while,  removed 


*  An  expression  often  used  by  the  chronicler  Villani  in  the  nar- 
rative of  these  events,  Book  VII. 


The  Flight.  335 

them,  showing  himself  calm. — Calm  !  he  evoked  a  sensa- 
tion similar  to  that  of  him  who,  sitting  on  the  border  of 
the  sea,  enjoys  watching  the  calm  waves  slightly  rippled 
by  the  evening  breeze,  when  of  a  sudden  his  delighted 
eyes,  glancing  farther,  perceives  pieces  of  shipwrecks  and 
floating  corpses — signs  of  the  last  storm. 

The  courier,  who  had  had  no  courage  to  open  his  lips, 
after  receiving  express  orders,  continued  thus  :  "  On  the 
evening  of  the  4th  of  February,  our  scouts,  returning  in 
haste,  gave  us  warning  to  be  on  the  alert,  for  the  enemy's 
vanguard  was  already  in  sight :  indeed,  there  was  no  need 
of  advice,  for  Count  Lancia  was  watching  incessantly, 
and  encouraging  the  soldiers  by  words  and  deeds  to 
worthy  actions.  Presently  there  appeared  a  division  of 
the  troops  of  Charles,  then  another,  and  another  still,  but 
night  supervening,  we  could  discern  no  more ;  but  to  all 
appearance  they  had  no  intention  of  giving  battle.  It 
was  already  past  the  first  hour  of  the  night,  and  I  was 
on  duty  by  the  tent  of  my  commander,  Count  Gior- 
dano, when  an  armed  man  approached  it ;  I  bent  my 
bow  and  asked  :  '  Who  goes  there  ? ' — '  Swabia,'  replied 
the  knight ;  '  go  and  awake  Count  Giordano,  for  I  must 
speak  to  him.'  — '  There  is  no  need  of  waking  me,' 
replied  my  commander,  putting  his  head  out  of  the 
tent,  'for  he  must  be  a  poor  vassal  that  sleeps  while  his 
lord  is  in  danger;  speak,  constable,  for  I  am  at  your 
orders.' — And  he  came  out ;  standing  in  the  open  air,  for 
the  sky  was  clear,  and  there  blew  not  a  breath  of  wind, 
Caserta  began  :  '  Dear  Giordano,  if  you,  as  I  doubt  not, 
love  the  king  as  I  do,  I  have  been  thinking  that  you 
would  not  oppose  a  stratagem  of  mine,  by  which  I  am  sure 
to  destroy  the  army  of  the  ProvenQal.' — Lancia  replied 
that  he  would  willingly  assist  him  ;  nothing  he  held  more 
at  heart  than  the  service  of  his  king  :  '  expound  your  plan, 
for  on  my  part  I  would  do  rny  utmost  to  execute  it  with 
alacrity.' — '  Very  well,  my  dear  Giordano,'  added  Rinaldo, 
'  you  know  that  this  river  Garigliano  is  not  only  fordable 
here,  but  the  higher  one  goes  towards  its  source  the  easier 
it  is  to  ford,  especially  at  Castelluccio ;  we,  according  to 
the  rules  of  art  and  the  orders  of  the  king,  have  spread 


336  The  Flight. 

our  forces  upon  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  to  repulse  the 
enemy  wherever  he  attempts  to  cross  over ;  but  do  you 
think  this  a  wise  plan  when  we  could  do  better?  Cer- 
tainly you  don't  think  so;  the  Provenqal  has  not  cer- 
tainly agreed  to  manoeuvre  his  troops  to  suit  us  ;  rather 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  he  will  mass  them  all  upon 
one  point,  and  there  forcing  ours,  which  would  be  insuf- 
ficient to  resist,  will  ford  the  Garigliano,  and  will  assail  us 
in  the  rear  and  flank,  much  to  our  disadvantage  :  I  think 
then,  in  order  to  obviate  this  datiger,  that  we  should  with- 
draw somewhat  back  .  .  .' — '  What  ?  '  interrupted  Count 
Giordano,  '  transgress  entirely  the  orders  of  Manfred ! ' 
— '  The  king,'  added  Caserta,  '  ordered  so  because  he 
thought  it  the  best ;  but  we  are  held  by  our  oath  of  fealty 
to  undertake  not  what  seems,  but  what  is  really  the  best ; 
if  he  should  reproach  us  for  it,  we  should  reply  :  We  have 
conquered  ; — doubt  not,  this  is  one  of  those  valid  excuses, 
that  admit  of  no  reply  to  the  contrary.  I  was  saying  then 
that  we  should  retire  somewhat,  and  divide  our  forces 
among  the  woods  along  the  road,  I  above  the  bridge  with 
my  Apulians,  you  below  it  with  your  Germans  ;  Charles, 
to-morrow,  seeing  the  bridge  undefended,  will  not  send 
his  troops  elsewhere,  nor  display  his  front  more  than 
needed  ;  he  will  push  forward  by  this  pass,  believing, 
pretentious  as  he  is,  that  we  hadn't  the  courage  to  stand, 
and  fled  at  his  sight ;  we  will  wait  his  advancing  in  mass  ; 
I  then  issuing  from  the  wood  will  charge  him  on  the  left, 
breaking  his  column  ;  the  moment  you  see  the  French 
disordered  you  will  attack  them  on  the  right,  and  destroy 
the  bridge ;  those  that  will  be  cut  oft"  between  us  and 
the  river,  we  will  hurl  into  it ;  those  that  remain  be- 
tween us  and  the  interior,  will  have  to  surrender,  having 
San  Germano  in  their  front ;  the  fact  that  the  troops  en- 
trusted to  your  valor  are  few,  is  no  hindrance  to  the 
plan,  for  your  few  Germans  are  worth  my  many  Apulians, 
and  as  you  have  to  assail  them  near  the  bridge,  you  can- 
not meet  but  a  depth  of  six  or  eight  files  of  soldiers ; 
whilst  I  must  fight  them  assuredly  in  a  larger  number. 
What  do  you  think  of  it,  Giordano  ?  is  it  not  a  good  stra- 
tagem ? ' — Count  Lancia  thought  a  long  while,  then  re- 


The  Flight.  337- 

plied,  briefly  :  '  I  cannot  agree  with  you,  constable  ;  your 
stratagem,  to  say  the  least,  seems  to  me  a  very  risky  one, 
nor  of  much  avail  to  us  now  ;  one  can  conquer  by  fight- 
ing and  also  by  avoiding  a  battle,  and  now  this  last 
seems  to  be  the  case  ;  if  Charles  weakens  part  of  his  front 
to  make  a  vigorous  impression  elsewhere,  we  will  press 
him  with  similar  manoeuvre  on  his  weak  point,  surround 
him  in  his  rear,  thus  obtaining  with  more  ease  and  greater 
fortune  the  same  desired  effect,  without  deviating  from 
the  orders  received.' — The  discussipn  waxed  warm  for 
some  time,  but  being  unable  to  agree,  Count  Giordano 
finally  proposed,to  assemble  a  council  of  war,  and  let  it 
decide :  at  this  point  the  constable  in  a  severe  tone 
said  :  '  Lieutenant,  we  have  until  now  spoken  to  you  so 
as  to  have  you  a  companion  in  this  fair  enterprise  ;  since 
you  will  not  be  our  companion,  we  order  you  to  execute 
what  we  deem  it  best  to  command.' — '  You  might  have 
done  so  in  the  beginning,  constable,  if  you  had  expected, 
in  revealing  to  me  your  design,  to  find  in  me  a  subservient 
rather  than  a  free-spoken  soldier ;  nevertheless  I  protest 
that  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  win,  but  that  in  spite  of  victory 
I  will  disapprove  of  your  conduct  before  Manfred.' — '  You 
will  do  what  you  please,  but  in  the  meanwhile  obey;' — • 
and  he  went  away.  Count  Giordano  raised  his  hand  to 
heaven,  and  I  heard  him  say :  '  God  grant  this  stratagem 
may  end  successfully,  but  I  fear  me  it  will  miscarry  !' — We 
separated  silently,  leaving  many  fires  lighted  to  deceive 
the  enemy :  the  constable  with  his  Apulians  went  east ; 
we  few,  with  our  commander,  hid  near  the  bridge.  The 
dawn  appeared  that  was  to  shine  upon  the  disgrace  of 
the  kingdom,  when  the  Provencals,  seeing  the  head  of  the 
bridge  without  defence,  sent  forward  several  scouts ;  soon 
after  there  appeared  a  stout  man  covered  with  splendid 
armor,  that  certainly  must  have  been  Count  d'Anjou  .  .  ." 

"  And  did  he  seem  to  you  as  brave  as  fame  tells  ?  "  in- 
terrupted Manfred. 

"  I  know  not  whether  brave,  but  prudent  he  certainly  is, 

for  he  gave  orders  to  his  troops,  the  moment  they  crossed 

the  bridge,  not  to  advance  in  column,  as  the  constable 

had  thought,  but  to  deploy  right  and  left  on  the  banks 

15 


338  The  Flight. 

of  the  river.  Count  Giordano,  who  stood  upon  a  promi- 
nence with  some  of  his  officers  watching  the  movements 
of  the  enemy,  at  the  sight  exclaimed  :  '  I  knew  too  well 
that  this  would  be  the  case,  yet  the  error  might  be  amended 
if  the  constable  would  return  quickly  and  join  me.' 
And  he  despatched  the  first,  then  the  second,  as  many  as 
five  couriers  ;  they  all  did  like  the  raven  of  Noah — never 
returned.  Agitated  with  impatience,  our  commander 
raised  his  face  and  saw  .  .  .  infamous  spectacle !  the 
Apulians  disappearing  in  a  shixmeful  flight  over  the  oppo- 
site mountains.  %He  could  not  credit  his  own  eyes,  he 
could  have  stabbed  any  one  who  would  have  said  they 
ran  away  ;  but  he  had  finally  to  yield  to  the  conviction 
of  the  bitter  truth.  '  Alas  ! '  he  exclaimed,  overwhelmed 
with  grief,  '  it  was  a  great  deal  worse  than  I  feared  ;  I  was 
prepared  for  the  blunder,  but  not  for  the  treachery  ;  and 
now,  what  shall  we  do  ? '  he  asked,  turning  to  his  follow- 
ers, who  all  cried  out  together,  '  Fight  and  die  !' — '  God 
forbid  that  I  should  allow  this  ;  preserve  your  lives,  brave 
men,  for  a  more  generous  and  less  desperate  opportunity. 
I  say  more  generous,  because  it  is  not  virtue  to  throw 
away  our  lives  inadvisedly  ;  on  some  other  occasion  our 
lives  may  be  of  more  use  to  our  king.  At  San  Germano 
we  can  easily  prove  that  we  were  not  the  cowards,  but 
the  betrayed  !  Now  my  master  sends  me  to  you,  Serene 
Highness,  and  begs  you  to  hasten  to  the  rescue,  and  .  .  ." 

Manfred  did  not  stop  to  hear  the  end.  He  leaped  to 
his  saddle  and  hastened  towards  Benevento,  without  even 
saluting  the  courier.  This  latter  followed  panting  on 
foot ;  nor  could  he  understand  that  after  he  had  taken  so 
much  pains,  after  he  had  so  kindly  welcomed  him  in  the 
beginning,  now  he  had  so  uncharitably  neglected  him. 
He  accused  the  stars,  and  his  ill-luck,  and  did  not  think 
that  '  the  first  bringer  of  unwelcome  news  hath  but  a  los- 
ing office.' 

On  arriving  at  his  royal  seat  of  Benevento,  ^Manfred 
sent  for  the  Emir  of  the  Saracens,  Sidi  Jussuff,  of  the 
race  of  Ben-izeyen,  who,  presenting  himself  and  saluting 
his  lord  with  every  demonstration  of  respect,  according 
to  the  Oriental  custom,  stood  immovable  before  him, 


The  Flight.  339 

awaiting  his  orders.  Manfred  thus  spoke  :  "  Count 
d'Angalone,  have  the  German  companies  ready  to  march 
for  San  Germano  in  two  hours  ;  you,  Abu  Jussuff,  do  the 
same  with  your  Saracens  ;  you  know  that  although  we 
are  believers  in  Isa  (Jesus)  yet  we  consider  them  as  our 
most  faithful  subjects  :  go,  and  tell  them  that  there  is  a 
short  work  for  them,  that  the  dragon  threatens  the  moon, 
buf  that  God,  the  compassionate,  the  merciful,  hath  de- 
creed that  it  shall  issue  more  bright  from  its  dirty  claws ; 
nor  will  victory  be  uncertain,  for  has  not  your  prophet 
said  :  '  He  who  feeds  on  iniquity  shall  find  his  moutlifull 
of  dust'?"* 

The  Emir,  crossing  his  hands  on  his  breast,  and  bowing 
very  low,  was  on  the  point  of  departing,  when  d'Anga- 
lone, turning  to  Manfred,  said  :  "  Please  your  Serene  High- 
ness, have  you  noticed  in  returning  to  the  city  what  a 
night  is  threatening  ?  The  road  we  have  to  go  is  very 
rough ;  if  the  storm  overtakes  us,  we  will  labor  in  vain, 
without  proceeding  a  step." 

"Weak  is  the  faith  that  takes  counsel  of  the 
weather,"  interrupted  the  Emir  ;  "  the  beast  that  Allah 
has  made  a  companion  of  man  looks  to  the  sign  and  to 
the  hand,  not  to  the  path,  and  if  along  the  road  he  falls 
over  the  precipicej  dies  happy  in  his  fidelity  ;  is  man 
less  gifted  than  the  dog  ?  The  doom  of  God  cometh 
to  pass,  no  one  can  escape  it.  He  causes  the  angel  of 
death  to  descend  with  the  spirit  on  whom  he  pleases  among 
his  servants,  and  you  are  smitten,  whether  sitting  at  your 
table  or  fighting  in  battle  ;  God  is  knowing,  powerful, 
and  hath  destined  all  that  is  to  pass  ;  hence  the  best  advice 
is  obedience  to  the  king." 

Count  d'Angalone,  whom  that  doctrine  of  fatalism  did 
not  suit,  was  about  replying  ;  but  Manfred  prevented  him 
by  a  disdainful  motion  of  the  hand,  and  exclaimed,  "It 
is  destined  ;  the  Emir  has  replied  for  me." 

They  left  the  hall.  Manfred  remained  alone.  Fierce 
thoughts  rushed  through  his  mind  with  the  same  celerity 
with  which  the  clouds  were  passing  at  that  moment 

*  All  the  words  italicised  are  quotations  from  the  Koran. 


340  The  Flight. 

through  the  sky,  and  they  were  not  less  threatening.  We 
will  not  describe  them,  nor  could  we,  if  we  would.  The 
two  painful  hours  having  passed,  first  the  Emir,  then  d' An- 
galone,  came  to  notify  him  that  the  Saracen  and  Ger- 
man troops  were  ready  to  start.  Manfred,  uttering  a 
deep  sigh,  looked  about  the  room,  took  the  Emir  by  the 
arm,  and,  "  Let  us  go,"  he  said,  "  where  destiny  stronger 
than  us  leads.  .  .  .  Ah  !  my  horse  ;  .  .  .  I  had  forgotten 
it " 

"  I  have  provided  for  that,"  replied  d'Angalone  ;  "  it  is 
ready  saddled  at  the  gate  of  the  palace." 

"  Thanks,  count,  thanks ;  you  have  done  well." 

And  they  went  down.  Hardly  had  they  issued  from 
the  door  than  a  pitiful  spectacle  presented  itself  to  the  eyes 
of  Manfred.  Upon  the  lowest  steps,  in  a  sweet  attitude 
of  love,  kneeled  his  wife  and  children  ;  he  had  forgotten 
them  !  Have  the  cares  of  state  such  power  as  to  make 
the  soul  forget  so  large  a  part  of  itself?  Neither  the 
gloomy  light  of  the  resin  torches,  nor  their  bituminous 
smoke,  caused  any  alteration  in  their  lovely  faces,  and* 
though  they  felt  within  their  tears  bursting,  yet  they 
smiled  in  order  not  to  afflict  the  king ; — ideal"  power  of 
tenderness  !  Why  does  Manfred  lower  his  visor  ?  Does 
he  fear  that  his  face  might  reveal  his  remorse  at  having 
forgotten  them,  or  his  pity  at  sight  of  them  ?  Remorse 
and  pity  are  both  praiseworthy  sensations  ;  the  former 
belongs  to  the  creature  destined  to  die,  the  latter  suits 
even  the  angels.  He  who  created  the  race  of  kings  willed 
that  they  should  be  more  than  men ;  they  must  repulse 
tears  from  their  eyes,  they  never  ought  to  feel  the  cry  of 
nature  ;  but  will  they  be  able  ?  Manfred  approaches  his 
dear  ones  trembling  ; — he  must  not  tremble,  he  is  a  king  ! 
Is  it  not  flesh  which  covers  him?  blood  which  runs 
through  his  veins?  a  heart  which  beats  in  his  breast?  .  .  . 

."  Elena !  Yole  !  Manfredino  !  wife,  children  !  Why 
have  you  come  out  thus  in  the  open  air  ?  Don't  you  see 
how  threatening  the  sky  is,  and  the  storm  is  about  to 
burst?" 

"Why  do  you  depart  without  saying  farewell  to  us? 


The  Flight.  341 

why  do  you  depart  without  taking  us  with  you  ?"  replied 
the  queen,  questioning  in  her  turn. 

"With  me!  amidst  the  dangers  of  arms,  amidst  the 
rage  of  fierce  soldiers,  amWst  the  tumult  of  battles, 
amidst  the  dead,  .  .  .  amidst  the  flight?"  and  this  last 
word  escaped  his  lips  almost  in  spite  of  himself. 

"  Shall  we  then  remain  far  away  from  you,  to  be  crushed 
by  uncertainty  more  distressing  than  misfortune  itself, 
and  die  of  grief?  Who  can  comfort  you  but  I  ?  If, — 
may  God  avert  it ! — you  should  be  wounded,  what  would 
the  world  say  of  Queen  Elena  ?  A  stranger's  hand  bound 
the  wounds  of  the  son  of  Frederick,  because  his  wife  dwelt 
far  from  the  field.  Have  I  so  ill  deserved  of  you  that 
you  would  have  me  bear  such  a  reproach  ?" 

"  But  you  see,  we  are  about  starting,  nor  could  you 
follow  us  in  the  saddle  ;  how  shall  we  convey  you  ?  A 
few  moments'  delay  may  hurl  me  where  ....  there  is  no 
rising." 

"Oh!  mind  not  that;  I  have  provided:  look,  these 
are  litters  .  .  ." 

"  In  truth,  you  will  prevent  our  going  fast." 

"  No,  you  go  ahead,  nor  mind  who  follow  you.  Do  not 
even  turn  back  to  look ;  we  will  follow  at  a  distance ;  the 
sight  of  you  will  suffice  us  .  .  ." 

"  You  will  prevent  my  fighting  .  .  ." 

"  Fear  not !  I  will  show  you  before  rushing  to  the 
battle,  this  your  Manfredino  .  .  ."  (the  king  bent  down, 
placed  both  his  hands  upon  the  head  of  his  little  boy, 
exclaiming  :  "  O  my  hope  !  ")  "and  I  will  tell  you  to  save 
him,  for  he  is  your  blood ;  that  your  enemies  will  not 
spare  him,  if  you  yield  .  .  ." 

"I  yield?  when  has  ever  Manfred  yielded?  when,  O 
queen,  has  your  husband  returned  conquered  ?  We  will 
conquer.  .  .  ." 

"And  we,  gathered  in  your  tent,  will  pray  unto  the 
Lord  to  give  you  victory,  not  to  look  down  upon  your 
forehead  marked  by  the  anathema,  to  unbind  what  His 
vicar  on  earth  has  bound,  for  he  has  bound  it  unjustly, 
...  to  hear  the  prayers  of  the  afflicted,  .  .  ..and  protect 
the  innocents." 


342  The  Flight. 

"  Do  not,  do  not  invoke  the  Eternal  to  look  down 
upon  Manfred ;  pray  to  Him  for  yourself,  pray  to  Him  for 
our  children ;  you  are  worthy  to  be  listened  to,  and  He 
will  listen  :  I  will  recommend  myself  to  my  sword." 

And  he  turned  to  depart ;  biit  they  threw  themselves  at 
his  feet,  embraced  his  knees,  breaking  forth  with  tearful 
voices :  "  Do  not  leave  us,  father !  do  not  leave  me, 
husband  ! " 

"  Come  then,  since  you  wish  it,  come  to  participate  in 
my  sorrows,  in  my  death ;  you  prefer  my  company  to 
your  lives,  to  your  safety,  and  I  accept  you.  Beware 
though,  you  will  taste  untold  of  bitterness,  for  the  friend 
of  the  unhappy  is  more  miserable  than  he  ;  later  you  may 
repent ;  you  do  not  believe  me  ?  I  pity  you  ;  you  know 
not  how  bitter  misfortune  is ;  how  the  love  of  self-pre- 
servation, innate  in  our  own  blood,  torments  us  ;  you 
cannot  know:  but  have  your  will.  And  Thou,  merciful 
God,  who  gathereth  the  storm,  and  ruleth  the  thunder- 
bolt, spare  these  innocents,  look  Thou  mercifully  dov/n 
upon  them  ;  if  I  have  sinned,  let  not  these  beloved  heads 
bear  the  weight  of  my  iniquities." 

Thus  spoke  Manfred,  deeply  moved ;  then  added : 
"Benincasa!  Benincasa  !  take  four  hundred  lancers,  and 
act  as  escort  to  my  royal  family.  Mark,  Benincasa,  this 
is  my  own  blood ;  you  also  are  a  father,  and  know  by  ex- 
perience what  means — my  blood  :  I  recommend  them  to 
you." 

"  My  beloved  king,"  replied  Benincasa,  lifting  his  hand 
to  his  heart,  "  I  will  take  more  care  of  them  than  if  they 
were  my  own  children  .  .  ." 

"  Enough  ! — guard  them  as  you  would  your  own  ;  that 
will  be  sufficient  for  me." 

Late  was  the  night,  and  profoundly  dark  ;  the  uncer- 
tain ray  of  neither  moon  nor  star  was  visible  through 
the  clouds  that  enveloped  the  hemisphere ;  in  such  fear- 
ful obscurity  as  saddened  the  earth,  even  a  flash  of  light- 
ning would  have  been  welcome.  From  the  fury  of  the 
whirlwind  that  howled  through  the  crags  of  the  mountains, 
from  the  bellowing  thunder  of  the  tossing  clouds,  there 
arose  a  sound  of  woe  and  terror  like  the  strange  tumult 


The  Flight.  343 

of  a  multitude  of  lost  souls  sighing  and  lamenting  in 
divers  tongues  and  horrid  languages.  Among  those 
mountain  paths,  one  warned  by  the  noise  of  the  torrent 
beneath  that  he  was  stepping  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice, 
stepped  back,  crying  to  his  neighbor,  "  There  is  death  ;  " 
and  the  other,  feeling  his  way  on  the  other  side,  and 
finding  that  there  also  the  path  ended  in  a  precipice, 
would  reply,  "  Nor  is  there  life  on  this  side."  They  would 
hold  by  each  other's  hand,  and  lowering  their  heads, 
groping  in  the  dark,  often  traversed  unhurt  the  dan- 
gerous path  ;  many  also  climbed  great  distances  on  their 
hands  and  feet;  many  clung  to  the  rocks,  and  never  left 
them  until  the  storm  abated  from  its  fury.  There  were 
cases  of  men  having  their  arms  or  legs  broken  by  trees 
that,  uprooted  by  the  wind,  fell  from  on  high ;  and  even 
some  that,  struck  on  the  head,  fell  lifeless  in  the  path  ; 
and  others  who,  too  sure  of  their  own  strength,  but  not 
sure  of  foot,  were  carried  away  by  the  force  of  the  tem- 
pest, without  even  time  to  manifest  by  a  cry  their  miser- 
able death  to  their  companions.  The  furious  element  ab- 
sorbed them,  as  if  too  jealous  to  divide  with  others  the 
power  of  fear,  and  as  if  resolved  that  no  terror  should  be 
greater  than  his. 

Through  such  turmoil  the  noble  Manfred,  mounted  upon 
a  generous  battle-horse  that  he  had  chosen,  notwithstand- 
ing that  the  Emir  Jussuff  had  made  him  observe  that  he  was 
white  of  the  left  fo»t,  and  hence  of  ill  omen,  rode  boldly, 
trusting  to  the  instinct  and  strength  of  the  animal,  who, 
as  if  to  justify  the  trust  that  the  rider  placed  in  him,  car- 
ried him  safely  with  wonderful  rapidity  over  a  rough  road 
full  of  impediments  and  danger.  The  officers  of  his  suite, 
either  because  they  rode  less  powerful  horses,  or  because 
they  had  less  brave  hearts,  could  not  keep  up  with  him  : 
so  that  he  preceded  them  by  a  long  distance.  The  legend 
relates  that  the  souls  of  the  dead  along  that  road  came 
out  of  their  tombs,  and  carrying  in  their  hands  lighted 
torches,  went  before  him,  lighting  the  way,  and  that  both 
the  horse  and  the  rider,  not  fearing  these  apparitions, 
availed  themselves  of  that  light  to  proceed  safely.  The 
chronicle  also  adds  that  Manfred,  having  exclaimed,  "All 


344  The  Flight. 

hail,  and  thanks  to  you,  whoever  you  are,  whether  infernal 
or  celestial  spirits,  that  enlighten  my  way,"  the  lights  sud- 
denly ceased,  and  immediately  after  there  appeared  a 
sceptred  ghost,  luminous  with  transparent  light,  as  of  a 
cloud  that  veils  the  disk  of  the  moon,  who,  wonderful  to 
^  relate,  instead  of  sending  forth  rays  of  light,  was  sur- 
rounded by  an  atmosphere  darker  than  the  darkness  of 
that  night.  He  resembled  the  Emperor  Frederick,  al- 
though his  face  could  not  be  described  with  precision, 
like  an  image  in  a  dream  that  the  mind  does  not  com- 
pletely form  :  he  did  not  seem  alive,  not  yet  dead — rather 
like  a  person  awakened  after  a  long  lethargy,  who  has 
not  yet  wholly  recovered  the  use  of  his  senses.  This 
ghost  seized  the  reins  of  the  horse,  and  with  a  voice 
which,  although  it  surpassed  the  roaring  of  the  storm, 
yet  was  not  heard  by  any  one  except  Manfred,  cried, 
"  Welcome,  my  son  ;  for  more  than  twenty  years  I  have 
waited  for  you  at  this  pass  :  "  and  at  the  end  of  the  words 
transported  him  with  such  rapidity,  that  the  king,  neither 
hearing  nor  feeling  the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  ground,  im- 
agined that  he  was  running  to  the  mouth  of  Vesuvius,  to 
be  thrown  down  into  the  infernal  lava  :  when  of  a  sudden 
the  ghost  stopped,  leaving  the  reins,  and  stretching  his 
arm  in  the  act  of  imprecating,  disappeared  with  a  horrid 
howl.  The  horse,  that  until  then  had  run  furiously,  all  of 
a  sudden  shied  ;  and  although  Manfred  used  all  his 
strength  and  skill,  he  was  not  able  to"make  him  advance 
a  step,  but  rather,  prancing,  he  reared  more  and  more. 
His  officers  coming  up  to  him,  wondered  that  their 
horses,  also  shying,  refused  to  advance.  They  lighted  the 
Greek-fire  in  a  lantern,  and  searched  the  ground  :  a  ghastly 
corpse  lay  across  the  road.  Who  was  he  ?  how  came 
he  there  ?  who  could  tell  in  that  fearful  night.  Perhaps  a 
guide  fallen  from  the  upper  precipice,  perhaps  a  peasant 
trampled  by  the  preceding  troops.  Manfred  ordered  it 
to  be  removed,  not  to  discourage  his  approaching  soldiers, 
and  be .  thrown  in  the  nearest  bush.  Then  moving  on, 
agitated,  but  not  cowed  by  such  strange  events,  he  fixed 
his  eyes  on  the  firmament,  and  said  menacingly :  "  You 


The  Saracen.  345 

can  tear  the  crown  from  my  head,  even  my  intellect,  for 
which  men  have  extolled  me  ;  but  I  defy  you  to  take 
away  my  constancy." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE     SARACEN. 

MESSO. 

Fuggite,  o  triste  e  sconsolate  donne, 
Fuggite  in  qualche  pni,  secura  parte, 
Che  i  nemici  gia  son  dentro  le  mura. 

SOFONISBA. 

Ove  si  puo  fuggir  ?  Che  luogo  abbiarao 
Che  ci  conservi,  o  che  da  lor  ci  asconda, 
Se  1'aiuto  di  Dio  non  ci  difende  ? 

SOFONISBA,  Tragcdia  Antica. 

MESSENGER. 

Flee,  O  ye  women,  sad  and  comfortless, 
Flee  to  some  spot  where  ye  may  be  secure. 
Already  are  our  foes  within  the  walls. 

SOFONISBA. 

But  whither  can  we  flee  ?  Where  is  the  place, 
That  can  protect  us,  or  conceal  us  from  them, 
If  the  Almighty  one  defend  us  not  ? 

M.  G.  M. 

|O,  the  Proven9al  has  not  conquered  ;  he  has 
merely  crossed  the  frontier,  like  the  trader  who 
from  the  Roman  States  passes  into  our  king- 
•dom.  Let  these  be  his  glories  !  let  destiny  re- 
serve no  better  ones  than  these  !  this  we  desire,  this  we 
hope,  this  we  will  strive  for  with  our  whole  might.  Let 
Jiim  exult  in  the  grossness  of  his  mind  over  the  shame  of 
such  victory  ; — the  heavens  have  not  granted  him  even  the 
modesty  that  robbers  have,  of  enjoying  in  silence  the 
15* 


346  The  Saracen. 

fruits  of  infamy  :  verily,  if  he  conquers  not  in  this  way,  he 
will  certainly  not  in  any  other ;  the  world  knows  what  a 
warrior  he  is  :  the  records  of  his  enterprises  are  extant  in 
Egypt,  where  he  bought  wijh  gold  a  life  that  he  had  not 
dared  to  spend  fighting  for  Christ.*  Oh  !  cause  of  God  to 
such  hands  entrusted  !  Was  it  too  small  a  grief  to  see 
your  Holy  Sepulchre  in  the  hands  of  the  dogs,  that  there 
must  also  be  added  the  greater  shame  of  having  your 
holy  flag  contaminated  by  this  French  robber  ?  King- 
doms are  ill  conquered  by  art ;  and  treachery  is  a  road 
to  disgrace,  not  to  glory.  Upon  the  road  that  leads  to 
royal  Naples  rises  now  Manfred,  armed  with  the  sword 
of  the  Emperor  Frederick,  preceded  by  his  eagle,  ac- 
customed from  so  many  years  of  victory  to  rest  on  the 
tents  of  the  conquered,  surrounded  by  his  faithful  barons, 
who  step  by  step  recovered  the  kingdom,  and  then  gave 
it  to  him.  Different  battles  are  now  preparing  for  you 
than  those  of  your  Provence ;  here  are  no  vassals  defend- 
ed only  by  innocence,  here  no  barons  under  the  safe- 
guard only  of  justice  ;  indeed,  if  these  were  our  only  de- 
fences, we  would  now  surrender  as  conquered  ; — you  are 
invincible,  as  every  one  knows,  against  innocence  ;  but 
we  have  yet  ten  thousand  Apulians  and  Germans,  all  the 
Saracens  of  Lucera,  innumerable  archers,  inpregnable 
walls,  dangerous  marshes,  inaccessible  mountains.  But 
what  are  we  saying  of  marshes,  mountains,  bulwarks  ? 
Are  we  so  degenerate  that  we  nqed  bulwarks  for  cuir- 
asses ?  Are  we  so  fallen  from  ancient  valor  to  need  any 
other  defence  but  our  breasts  ?  Shall  French  pride  boast 
of  this  unhoped-for  glory?  Shall  Italian  valor  grieve  at 
the  unwonted  shame  ?  But  we  will  not  dwell  longer  in 
such  ignominious  surmisings.  In  the  open  fields  our 
fathers  fought,  and  we  will  issue  in  the  open  fields ;  let 
us  go  and  make  a  generous  amend  for  our  brothers'  faults, 
let  us  turn  into  bitter  the  sweet  fruits  of  Italy  in  their 
mouths,  let  us  make  them  feel  that  it  was  an  ill  moment 


*  Alluding  to  Charles  being  taken  prisoner  with  his  brother  St. 
Louis  by  the  Turks  near  Damietta,  and  ransomed  in  1250.  See 
Chapter  VIII. 


The  Saracen.  347 

when  they  touched  the  Italian  soil ;  that  our  climate  is 
unsuitable,  our  air  pestilential  to  the  lilies  of  France. 
Here  arose,  here  live,  and  will  live  forever  to  victory, 
the  Imperial  Eagles : — perhaps  at  this  moment  Charles, 
the  king  of  our  kingdom  !  advised  by  fear,  is  resolving 
to  abandon  these  possessions,  given  him  by  his  Roman 
pontiff,  without  even  looking  at  them  :  it  is  too  late, — the 
Alps  are  never  crossed  in  vain.  Son  of  an  unhappy  father 
was  he  who  dared  to  invade  the  garden  of  the  empire ; 
a  widow  before  a  bride,  will  be  the  lover  of  him  who 
attacked  the  inheritance  of  the  descendants  of  Constan- 
tine.  From  beyond  the  mountains  they  will  see  naught 
but  the  funeral  rites  of  the  fools  that  committed  them- 
selves to  this  adventurous  enterprise  ; — let  them  have 
the  mourning  since  they  had  not  the  wisdom ;  after  the 
deed  even  the  fool  becomes  wise  :  and  indeed  our  thought, 
cheered  by  the  favorable  auspices,  flattered,  by  the  glory 
of  success,  rejoices  to  look  upon  the  future  and  contem- 
plate you  all,  venerable  with  honorable  old  age,  in  the 
halls  of  your  castles,  surrounded  by  your  children  and 
children's  children,  earnestly  begged  to  relate  the  history 
of  the  many  trophies  hanging  from  the  walls.  You  wlil 
then  look  smiling  on  them  with  the  knowledge  that  you 
will  live  immortal  in  the  memory  of  your  descendants, 
and  will  begin  thus :  "  It  is  now  many  and  many  years 
since  a  race  of  barbarians  moved  from  beyond  the  moun- 
tains to  infest  our  beautiful  country ; — pray,  children, 
peace  to  their  souls,  for  they  too  were  baptized  Christians  ! 
— but  they  left  their  bodies  to  the  fields,  their  arms  to  us, 
to  their  children  tears,  and  the  grief  of  not  being  able  to 
avenge  them ; — fortunate  only  in  this,  that  dying,  we 
could  not  take  away  from  them  the  glory  of  perishing  by 
our  sword." 

Thus  spoke  Manfred  in  the  presence  of  his  barons, 
when  he  arrived  at  San  Germane  :  and  if  he  had  ad- 
dressed them  merely  to  obtain  glory  as  an  orator,  his 
desire  would  have  been  fulfilled,  for  they  received  it  with 
such  a  tumult  of  clapping  of  hands,  and  approving  cries, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  all  San  Germano  was  tumbling  down. 
Nevertheless,  not  all  those  that  applauded  believed  what 


348  The  Saracen. 

Manfred  said,  and  he  least  of  all :  yet  his  condition  was 
not  thus  far  desperate,  for  San  Germano  was  really  a 
strongly  fortified  place,  and  he  superintended  constantly 
its  further  strengthening,  nor  ever  spared  himself,  for  by 
day  and  by  night  he  inspected  the  sentries,  went  round  with 
the  patrols,  rewarded  the  deserving,  kindly  admonished 
the  indolent.  The  usages  of  warfare  of  those  times  ren- 
dered the  place  impregnable,  except  by  a  blockade ;  but 
Manfred  had  provided  for  this  by  storing  provisions  for 
two  years  ;  nor  could  the  enemy  surround  the  place  in 
such  manner  that  there  would  not  remain  some  way  open 
to  the  country.  The  Count  of  Provence  saw  all  these 
difficulties,  and  almost  despaired  of  success  :  he  might 
have  ventured  an  assault,  and  would  have  attempted  it ; 
but  those  walls  appeared  too  strong  and  too  carefully 
guarded  to  run  the  risk  with  any  good  hopes.  Should  he 
be  repulsed,  as  it  seemed  probable,  he  would  have  slack- 
ened the  ardor  of  the  French — who  are  giants  in  pros- 
perous fortune,  and  are  discouraged  beyond  all  reason 
in  reverses — and  lose  his  reputation  of  invincible,  that 
so  much  aided  him.  Should  he  fail  in  the  attempt,  there 
would  result  from  it  a  series  of  evils,  the  least  of  which 
would  have  been  to  renounce  entirely  the  enterprise.  It 
did  not  seem  to  him,  nor  was  it  prudent,  after  so  many 
trials  undergone,  so  many  desired  expectations,  so  many 
designs,  to  entrust  the  success  of  his  undertaking  to  the 
uncertain  issue  of  a  battle,  in  which  the  experience 
of  his  troops,  the  brave  knights  armed  cap-d-pie  at  a 
great  expense,  would  have  availed  him  for  nothing. 
He  knew  also  too  well  that  those  many  Romans  who 
had  joined  him  did  not  come  to  aid  him,  but  to  par- 
ticipate in  the  spoils  conquered  by  the  valor  of  his  troops  ; 
and  that  at  the  first  disaster  they  would  depart  as  fast  as 
they  came,  spreading  everywhere  the  report  of  his  defeat, 
and  magnifying  it  in  order  to  excuse  their  flight  and  de- 
sertion. On  the  other  hand,  inactivity  injured  him  as 
much  as  defeat ;  provisions  were  getting  scarce,  the  treas- 
ury empty,  and  the  Romans,  as  we  have  said,  accompa- 
nied him  for  gain,  not  for  loss  ;  if  chance  opened  to  him  no 
way  of  safety,  he  felt  that  he  was  lost.  True  it  is,  though, 


The  Saracen.  349 

that  in  his  face  he  showed  the  opposite ;  and  contrary  to 
his  usual  habit  he  smiled  often  ;  and  if  he  saw  any  captain 
or  soldier  discouraged,  he  would  call  him  by  name,  and 
say  kindly  :  "  Courage,  for  we  have  overcome  the  bridge, 
and  with  the  aid  of  St.  Martin  we  will  overcome  the  wall ; 
watchfulness  will  conquer  ill-fortune."  In  this  wise  he 
encouraged  others  when  he  himself  was  on  the  point  of 
despairing. 

Whilst  thus  Manfred,  in  spite  of  his  beautiful  talk  of, 
coming  out  in  the  open  field,  remained  shut  up  within 
the  fortress — not  because  he  failed  in  courage,  for  on  the 
contrary  he  was  very  brave,  but  because  he  distrusted 
his  faithful  barons — and  Charles,  who,  unable  to  show 
himself  a  lion,  watched  with  the  sagacity  of  a  fox  the 
opportune  moment,  there  happened  at  San  Germano  a 
circumstance,  serious  in  itself,  more  serious  in  its  conse- 
quences, and  it  was  the  following: 

Many  of  the  principal  captains  of  King  Manfred  were 
walking  one  day  upon  the  battlements  of  the  walls,  among 
whom  Count  Giordano  d'Angalone,  and  the  Emir  Abu 
Jussuff,  conversing,  as  is  customary  among  soldiers,  of 
the  affairs  of  the  war ;  and  as  usual,  from  one  subject 
passing  to  another,  Count  Giordano  came  to  speak  of 
present  events,  and  with  satisfactory  arguments  asserted 
that  the  enemy's  army  would  inevitably  soon  be  dismem- 
bered, for  it  would  havet>een  folly  more  than  daring  to 
advance  into  the  interior  of  the  Neapolitan  state,  leaving 
San  Germano  in  its  rear.  Nor  was  the  Count  of  Provence 
so  poor  a  general  as  to  commit  such  irreparable  errors ; 
yet  delay  was  almost  ruinous,  for  he  knew  that  he  was 
short  both  of  provisions  and  money  for  his  soldiers. 
As  to  these,  they  never  trust  to  promises  :  with  them 
gold  only  can  make  them  go  forward,  and  iron  go  back- 
wards ;  more  than  any  other  people  in  the  world  they  fol- 
low the  ancient  maxim,  that,  where  there  is  nothing  to 
gain,  one  surely  loses.  And  thus  he  kept  on,  express- 
ing other  opinions  ;  finally  concluding,  that  it  was  a  most 
wise  act  of  the  king  to  abandon  Benevento,  and  come 
with  all  the  forces  he  was  able  to  muster  to  defend  San 
Germano.  At  this  the  Emir  replied  that  he  was  speaking 


35O  The  Saracen. 

very  wisely ;  but  at  the  same  time  San  Germano  came 
very  near  not  being  reinforced  on  rris  account ;  and  if 
they  had  followed  his  (Count  d'Angalone's)  advice,  the, 
fortress  would  by  this  time  have  been  taken  ;  and  with 
Charles  in  their  front  the  fate  of'the  kingdom  would  have 
been  soon  settled. 

Count  d'Angalone,  ill  brooking  such  a  reproach  in  the 
presence  of  his  companions  of  arms,  replied  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  what  he  was  talking  about ;  he  had  never 
advised  Manfred  aught  but  what  was  soldierly ;  it  would 
have  been  treachery  to  have  stopped  him  from  coming  to 
the  rescue  of  San  Germano  ;  that,  with  his  permission,  he 
must  be  mistaken.  The  bystanders  enjoying  greatly  the 
garrulous  dispute  of  the  two,  surrounded  them  curiously 
to  see  how  it  would  end. 

The  Emir,  piqued  at  these  words,  exclaimed,   "  Then 
you,  count,  have  committed  a  treachery,  though  by  the 
soul  of  my  father  I  would  sustain  that  you  are  not  a  trai- 
tor.    Do  you  not  remember  when,  for  fear  of  wetting  your 
collar  or  spoiling  your  sleep,  you  wanted  to  detain  the 
king  at  Benevento  because  the  night  was  getting  rainy  ?  " 
There  arose  all  round. a  mocking  laugh;   d'Angalone 
became  red-hot  in  the  face,   and  with  bitter  words  re- 
proved the  Emir ;  this  latter  on  his  part  was  not  silent, 
and  the  dispute  grew  warm  to  such  a  point,  that  the  count 
without  further   ceremony  told  him  that  he  lied  in  his 
throat,  and  he  would  prove  it  by  all  manner  of  means  ; 
that  if  crazy  people  in  his  country  were  worshipped  as 
saints,   in   his   they  were  whipped   to   teach   them   wis- 
dom ;  that  to  assail  a  squadron  of  cavalry  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent thing  from  plundering  a  caravan  of  traders  ;  and  to 
lead  armies  differed  very  much  from  leading  sheep  ; — and 
many  other  insulting   expressions   he  added,  which   the 
Emir  did  not  at  all  deserve",  for  he  was  a  very  brave  and 
worthy  military  man.     But  passion  never  measures  words 
or  blows  ;  and  the  man   whose '  face  becomes  very  red 
from  anger,  will  afterwards  turn  pale  for  shame.     The 
Eaiir,  although  he"  felt  the  lie  direct  as  the  point  of  a 
poniard  in  his  heart,  curling  his  lips  in  a  certain  biting 
smile  of  his,  replied  mockingly  : 


The  Saracen.  351 

"  My  lord  count,  you  being  a  tall  man,  measure  your 
faith  wifh  the  clouds ;  and  as  to  your  duties,  you  take 
counsel  with  the  moon.  In  truth,  count,  I  feared  in  that 
night  that  the  wind  would  blow  out  the  fire  of  your  loyalty 
along  the  road.  Before  going  into  battle,  you  had  better 
come  to  some  understanding  with  the  enemy  not  to  strike 
with  the  edge  or  the  point  of  the  sword,  and  not  to  hurt 
each  other,  and  particularly  not  to  strike  on  the  head : 
and  be  careful  not  to  forget  your  cloak,  so  that  in  return- 
ing heated  from  the  field  you  may  not  catch  a  cold." — 
And  continued  in  this  strain.  In  the  meanwhile,  the 
laughter  increased  all  around,  and  sharp  retorts  flew  back- 
ward and  forward.  D'Angalone,  unskilled  in  that  battle 
of  epigrams,  knowing  that  for  one  he  would  get  one  hun- 
dred in  reply,  unable  to  restrain  himself,  having  lost  the 
light  of  reason,  carried  on  by  passion,  raised  his  fist  and 
struck  the  Emir  so  violently  on  the  face,  that  the  blood 
spurted  from  his  nose,  where  he  hit  him.  Jussuff,  stunned 
by  the  blow,  but  more  so  by  the  insult,  put  his  hand  to 
the  scimitar  ;  the  same  did  Giordano,  and  they  would 
have  come  to  bloodshed,  if  the  mutual  friends  interposing 
had  not  prevented  them,  ready  now  to  prevent  the  conse- 
quences of  a  contest  that  they  had  encouraged  with  pleas- 
ure, by  inciting  one  against  the  other.  Certainly  these 
men  had  no  suspicion  that  such  great  evil  would  result 
from  it ;  but  knew  they  not  that  when  passions  are  excited, 
no  one  knows  where  or  when  they  will  subside,  and  that 
having  no  power  to  moderate  them,  all  our  wisdom  is  re- 
duced to  never  touching  therh'Jt '-  V  '  $  f  $>  *  % 

They  led  the  Emir,  bleeding,  to  his  quarters ;  and 
Giovanni  Villani  narrates  *  that  the  Saracens,  seeing  him 
so  ill  used,  and  hearing  the  cause  of  it,  became  so  exasper- 
ated, that,  taking  up  arms,  they  rushed  upon  the  Christians, 
who,  having  received  them  with  their  visors  lowered,  there 
arose  a  terrible  fight,  with  the  worst  of  the  Saracens.  Our 
chronicle,  however,  relates  that  they  truly  intended  to  raise 
the  dei'il,  and  worse,  set  fire  to  the  town,  murder  and  kill 
ail,  happen  what  might  afterwards.  But  the  Emir  prevented 

*  Hist.,  Book  VII. 


352  The  Saracen. 

it,  crying,  that  he  desired  no  one  to  be  so  bold  as  to  mix 
in  his  affairs,  that  it  was  a  private  offence,  and  had  to^be 
settled  privately  ;  that  he  would  deem  it  an  eternal  shame 
to  himself,  that  any  one  sholild  show  himself  readier  than 
he  was  to  vindicate  his  own  honor  :  let  them  then  retire. 
The  first  who  should  dare  to  advance  a  step  he  would 
cleave  his  head  from  his  shoulders. — "So  that,"  adds  the 
chronicles,  "  the  Saracens,  persuaded  by  the  speech,  and 
more  so  by  the  conclusion,  consented,  although  unwillingly, 
to  stay  quiet." 

On  the  morrow,  the  Eniir,  calling  his  secretary,  handed 
him  a  paper  carefully  folded,  scented  with  musk,  sealed 
with  green  silk,  and  wax,  ordering  him  to  carry  it  to 
Covint  Giordano  d'Angalone.  The  secretary  having  ful- 
filled his  orders,  the  count  broke  the  seal  and  read  :  "To 
the  praised  in  the  faith  of  Isa,  and  imitator  of  the  precepts 
of  his  faith,  Giordano  d'Angalone,  count,  captain  of  the 
fourth  company  of  the  German  horses.  In  San  Ger- 
mano,  this  last  day  of  the  moon  of  Gemmadi,  year  of  the 
Hegira  643. — Behold,  thou  hast  covered  me  with  dust  in 
the  presence  of  our  friends,  thou  hast  rendered  me  impo- 
tent to  fight  even  our  own  enemies  :  is  it  written  in  any 
law  or  commandment  of  thy  God  to  strike  the  friend  who 
hath  not  offended  thee,  or  whom  thou  hast  first  offended  ? 
Does  it  become  thy  valor,  or  thy  fame  as  a  brave 
knight,  that  thou  shouldst  do  thus  to  the  loyal  servants  of 
thy  king?  Now  let  it  be  known  to  thy  worship,  if  thou 
art  valiant,  that  I  do  challenge  thee  to  come  out  to-mor- 
row after  the  first  hour,  upon  the  place  where  thou  hast 
struck  me,  so  that  we  may  fight  together.  Come  alone 
if  thou»wishest,  or  with  thy  followers,  for  this  matters  little, 
and  I  will  prove  to  thee  with  sword  and  lance  that  thou 
hast  not  behaved  as  becomes  a  valorous  baron.  If  I,  as 
I  hope,  shall  kill  thee,  my  sword  will  again  resume  its 
edge  against  all,  which  now,  by  thy  fault,  it  has  not,  ex- 
cept against  thee  alone  ;  if  thou  comest  not,  I  will  not 
abandon  thee,  even  if  thou  shouldst  fly  beyond  the  moun- 
tains or  beyond  the  seas  ;  if  thou  comest  not,  I  will  pro- 
claim thee  throughout  Christendozn  for  a  coward,  and  vile 
in  the  will  of  God  and  His  commandments,  in  that  of  the 


The  Saracen.  353 

saints  in  holiness,  and  in  that  of  all  the  honorable  knights. 
God  the  Great,  and  Muhammad  His  prophet,  vouchsafe 
long  life  and  grant  special  gifts  to  any  one  that  will  read 
this  letter  correctly,  and  make  the  way  short  and  the  em- 
bassy acceptable  to  him  who  will  consign  it  to  the  above 
said  count,  Captain  Giordano  d'Angalone.  The  servant 
of  God,  Jussuff,  of  the  race  of  Ben-izeyen,  Emir  of  the 
Saracens  of  Apulia." 

Count  Giordano,  having  carefully  read  the  cartel, 
opened  a  little  drawer,  and  taking  out  a  few  agostaris, 
placed  them  in  the  hands  of  the  Saracen  herald,  saying : 
"  Keep  these  with  my  thanks."  Then  he  added  in  a 
lower  tone  :  "  Tell  your  master  that  I  am  ready  to  do 
all  he  desires  ;  that  to-morrow  I  expect  him  in  courtesy  to 
my  table,  and  soon  after  breakfast  we  will  enter  the  lists, 
where  God  will  give  the  victory  to  whomever  He  willeth." 

This  affair  could  notJDe  kept  so  secret  that  it  did  not 
reach  the  ear  of  Manfred,  who  on  account  of  the  times 
could  ill  afford  to  lose  either  of  those  leaders.  Wishing 
therefore  to  remedy  this  matter,  he  did,  what  he  would 
'never  have  thought  of  doing,  namely,  rendered  more 
fatal  to  himself  and  to  his  interests. 

Count  d'Angalone,  obeying  peremptory  orders,  appears 
in  the  presence  of  the  king  ;  he  comes  forward  with  un- 
certain steps,  his  head  bent  low,  pale  in  the  face,  sure 
of  having  incurred  his  lord's  displeasure  ;  receiving  no 
order  to  approach,  nor  even  to  stop,  he  stood  at  a  re- 
spectful distance — further  off  than  usual,  however  ;  only 
once  he  dared  to  lift  his  eyes  to  Manfred  (oh,  how  dis- 
comforting is  the  anger  of  a  revered  person  to  a  sensitive 
soul !),  he  had  not  the  courage  to  withstand  his  look,  and 
lowered  them  immediately  to  the  ground.  The  king  sat 
in  the  severity  of  his  justice,  looking  fixedly,  scowlingly, 
at  the  poor  count.  After  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour  of 
silence,  during  which  there  seemed  to  d'Angalone  that 
all  the  generations  of  men  from  Adam  downward  were 
standing  around  contemplating  his  shame,  the  voice  of 
the  king  began  gravely  to  speak  thus  :  "  We  leave  you  to 
decide,  count,  whether  it  arises  from  your  king's  suspicions, 
or  from  others'  actions,  that  he  cannot  nowadays  distin- 


354  The  Saracen. 

guish  his  friends  from  his  enemies.  Whilst  an  army  of 
barbarians,  greedy  for  our  estates,  intent  on  our  total  ex- 
termination, stands  drawn  in  battle  array  in  our  front, 
and  teaches  us  to  stand  united  in  our  guard  if  we  desire 
safety,  there  is  one  who  dares  to  disgrace  with  the  low- 
est of  insults  a  beloved  leader,  attached  to  us  through 
honorable  services,  through  long  and  often  proved  fidelity  ; 
a  leader  who  constitutes  the  principal  force  in  our  present 
defences,  so  that,  if  he  should  withdraw  or  betray  us, 
we  should  have  no  other  escape  than  recommending  our 
soul  to  the  saints  ;  and  such  a  one  dares  then  to  call 
Count  Caserta  infamous  ! 

"  We  leave  you  to  decide,  Count  Giordano,  which  of 
these  two  is  more  traitor,  and  deserves  more  a  mark  of 
infamy  ;  if  crimes  are  to  be  weighed  by  the  injury  which 
they  cause,  and  certainly  they  are,  the  latter  took  away 
from  us  his  person  with  a  few  troops  of  vassals ;  the 
former  takes  away  our  means  of  defence,  obstructs  our 
way  to  victory,  hands  bound  to  the  enemy  ourselves, 
our  .children,  our  subjects ;  nor  stops  he  there,  but  with 
unheard-of  presumption  despises  the  laws  of  the  kingdom, 
despises  the  person  of  the  king,  who  would  rather  be 
buried  under  the  ruins  of  his  throne  than  suffer  his  royal 
authority  to  be  in  the  slightest  manner  set  aside  ;  and 
sends  cartels,  and  proposes  duels,  and  prepares  weapons 
under  our  own  eyes.  It  is  so  unusual,  it  is  so  grave  a 
transaction,  Count  Giordano,  that  we,  as  a  wise  sove- 
reign, fearing  that  our  ire  may  disturb  our  mind,  and  af- 
fect our  judgments,  have  desired,  before  pronouncing 
judgment,  to  consult  you  in  your  opinion  :  speak." 

"•  My  king,"  with  slow  and  broken  voice  answered 
Count  Giordano,  "  I  acknowledge  myself  guilty  ;  I  did 
not  send  the  cartel,  I  only  accepted  it,  because  so  it  be- 
hooved any  one  to  do  who  wears  spurs  and  sword  of  a 
knight.  I  am  ready  to  accept  cheerfully  -and  calmly  any 
severe  punishment  that  your  Serene  Highness  may  be 
willing  to  inflict ;  only  I  beg  you  not  to  degrade  me  so  low 
in  your  eyes  as  to  compare  me  to  that  wretch,  di  Caserta ; 
this,  I  will  not  say  my  own,  but  the  merits  of  my  ancestor 


The  Saracen.  355 

in  support  of  your  house,  do  not  deserve,  nor  the  years 
of  unstained  renown  .  .  ." 

And  he  would  have  continued,  but  Manfred  interrupted 
him  with  less  harsh  expression,  yet  still  severe. 

"  We  accept  your  submission,  count.  Will  you  remit 
your  quarrel  into  our  hands  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  refuse,  even  if  I  wished  to,  convinced 
that  whatever  your  Serene  Highness  may  dispose,  will 
be  according  to  the  rules  of  honor." 

"  In  the  meanwhile,  surrender  your  sword  ;  retire  to 
the  prisons  of  the  palace;  you  are  prisoner  of  the 
king." 

D'Angalone,  laying  down  his  sword,  and  bowing  to  the 
king,  retired.  Manfred,  inclined  to  hope  well  by  the  sub- 
mission of  the  count,  sent  immediately  for  the  Emir,  de- 
siring that  that  day  should  not  pass  without  pacifying  the 
two. 

As  a  man  of  experience,  knowing  that  the  Orientals 
are  more  than  anything  else  affected  by  appearances,  he 
called  the  primary  officers  of  his  household,  filled  the  tables 
full  of  papers,  oidered  the  entrance  hall  to  be  filled  with 
orderlies  and  couriers  :  in  fine,  he  put  forward  an  osten- 
tatious display  of  state  affairs. 

Hardly  had  the  Emir  placed  his  foot  in  the  royal  hall, 
without  being  announced,  for  thus  had  been  ordered,  than 
Manfred,  dismissing  all  the  other  officers,  rushed  to  him, 
speaking  with  affectionate  accents  :  "  Welcome  the  blessed 
of  the  Lord,  Abu  Jussuff,  worthy  descendant  of  the  Bcn- 
izeyen  !  The  presence  of  the  faithful  servant  is  as  sweet 
to  his  king  as  the  perfume  of  myrrh,  as  the  water  sent  down 
in  abundance  from  the  rain-cloud  that  it  may  bring  forth 
corn  and  herbs  ;  come,  sit  at  my  side,  here  on  my  left.  The 
king  who  listens  on  his  right  hand  to  the  advice  of  the  arch- 
angel, and  on  his  left  to  that  of  the  friend,  and  bears  be- 
fore him  as  a  sign  on  the  forehead  the  fear  of  God — that 
king  walks  in  the  right  way,  in  the  way  of  those  whom  He 
hath  filled  with  grace ;  and  his  steps  will  lead  to  glad- 
ness, and  a  blessing  will  be  in  his  house  from  father  to 
son  for  everlasting." 

At  this    point  the  Emir  pointed  to  his  bruised  face, 


356  The  Saracen. 

wishing,  as  it  seemed,  to  begin  ex  abrupto.  Manfred  did 
not  await  for  him  to  speak,  but  hastily  continued  :  "  May 
God  and  the  Prophet  vouchsafe  thee  all  thy  desires  !  We 
know,  faithful  Emir,  what  thou  wishest  to  say,  and  have 
called  thee  for  this;  for  our  sleep  last  night  was  not  so 
tranquil  as  the  others,  nor  the  light  of  this  morn  so  shining 
as  before,  nor  has  the  warbling  of  the  morning  birds  of  the 
Lord  cheered  us.  Behold,  it  hath  pleased  Him,  who  causeth 
to  laugh  and  to  weep,  to  sadden  this  our  servant,  and 
fill  his  mouth  with  bitter  drink.  Praise  be  to  God,  Lord 
of  the  worlds  1  let  His  will  be  done.  The  star  of  the  Ben- 
izeyen  has  ceased  to  shine  on  his  race  ;  the  faithful  JussufT 
has  been  vilified  where  the  Creator  has  impressed  His 
image  ; — but  the  crow  is  black  in  the  face  of  heaven,  the 
clove  white  ;  nor  has  the  reptile,  although  it  has  lifted 
its  head,  ever  been  able  to  contaminate  the  flesh  of  the 
eagle — it  has  only  stained .  its  wings  with  poison.  God 
protects  the  strength  of  the  lion,  and  the  name  of  the  just, 
for  they  are  both  His,  and  emanation  of  His  power ;  yet 
if  the  offence  was  small,  the  sin  was  great.  As  from  the 
grain  of  sand  to  the  mountain,  likewise  from  an  unac- 
complished thought  in  the  secret  of  the  mind  to  the 
greatest  crime,  all  is  in  the  presence  of  Allah  and 
his  Prophet,  and  one  day  all  will  be  weighed,  and  every 
sin  will  receive  its  punishment  according  to  its  deserts  ; 
thus  before  the  vassals  pay  to  Munchir  and  Nechir 
the  penalty  of  the  grave,  we  kings  of  the  earth  are  deputed 
to  make  them  suffer  punishment  in  this  life  ;  and  We  in- 
tend to  punish  the  insult  offered  thee  in  such  way,  that 
thou  shall  feel  satisfied  .  .  ." 

Manfred  intended  to  continue  ;  but  the  Emir  breaking 
him  short  amidst  that  whirlwind  of  Oriental  metaphors, 
raised  his  voice,  exclaiming  : 

"  Offspring  of  emperors!  The  man  that  calls  another 
in  a  question  of  honor  is  worthy  of  the  dust,  and  that  his 
children  should  beg  the  bread  of  infamy  from  the  enemies 
of  his  life  .  .  ." 

"  Is  it  perchance  the  mouth  of  calumny  that  wishes  to 
avenge  thee  ?  Or  is  it  the  arm  of  an  assassin  that  under- 
takes thy  defence  ?  Are  we  not  thy  Melek  to  whom  the 


The  Saracen.  357 

Prophet  has  granted  full  .dominion  over  thy  life,  over  thy 
goods  ?  " 

"  Not  over  my  honor." 

"  Then  if  we  should  ask  a  sacrifice  for  the  good  of  our 
people  and  of  ourselves,  will  it  avail  nothing  with  thee,  the 
benefits  which  we  and  our  fathers  have  bestowed  on  thee  ? 
nothing  to  have  removed  thee  and  thine  from  the  moun- 
tains of  Sicily,  where  you  shared  your  liv«  with  the  beasts 
of  the  field  ?  " 

"  To  what  purpose  do  you  recall  what  I  know  ?  I  will 
kill  my  wives,  my  children,  my  horse,  my  dog,  and  myself 
over  them,  if  you  desire  it . .  ." 

"  We  desire  not  thy  blood — rather  thy  life  and  thy  fame 
we  desire.  Thou  wilt  see  a  noble  knight  ask  thy  pardon 
before  an  assemblage  of  knights  ;  thou  wilt  see  him  cover 
his  head  with  the  dust  that  thou  hast  trampled  upon  as  with 
a  crown  of  glory  ;  thou  wilt  see  him  kneeling  at  thy  feet  as 
to  the  throne  of  his  king  :  what  more  wilt  thou  ?  There 
is  a  limit  to  revenge ;  what  does  thy  Koran  teach  in  the 
Sura  Aaraf  ?  Pardon  willingly,  do  good  to  your  fellow- 
men,  contend  not  with  the  ignorant.  Does  not  our  gospel 
teach  the  same  ? '' 

"  My  Prophet  is  my  heart.  The  count  has  seen  my 
blood,  he  has  covered  me  with  dust,  nor  can  I  forgive  him  ; 
indeed,  if  you  desire  it,  I  can  give  my  spirit  to  Eblis  for 
seven  thousand  years,  that  he  may  torment  it  at  his  will ; 
indeed,  I  can  drag  the  chain  of  seventy  cubits  through  fire 
and  brimstone  all  over  Gehenna  for  the  time  to  which 
Allah  condemns  fhe  prevaricators  :  but  I  cannot  forgive 
the  count,  for  he  has  covered  me  with  dust." 

"  Remit,  O  Emir,  your  quarrel  to  your  king ;  Manfred 
begs  it  of  you."  , 

"  I  have  remitted  it  to  the  edge  of  my  sword  ;"  and  he 
drew  it  sparkling  from  its  sheath,  and  placing  it  under 
the  eyes  of  Manfred :  "  Ask  it  to  remit  it  to  you  ;  if  it  re- 
plies, it  is  yours." 

"  JussufF,  we  will  it  so." 

"  Do  you  will  it  so  ?  Be  it  so  ;  to-morrow  let  the 
hand  that  struck  me  be  brought  in  this  turban  with  a  pa- 
per in  its  fingers,  containing  the  request  for  pardon,  and  I 


358  The  Saracen. 

will  send  it  back  to  you  sealed  with  my  seal ;  then  I  will 
call  myself  satisfied,  and  will  desist  from  the  quarrel." 

"  This  is  African  cruelty,  and  my  kingdom  will  never 
be  stained  by  such  barbarism.  Come,  Jussuff,  since  them 
wilt  not  remit  the  quarrel,  thou  canst  at  least  postpone 
it." 

"  Postpone  "it  ?  know  you"  what  is  written  in  the  book 
of  the  wise  ? — WJien  a  beam  begins  to  rot,  change  if, 
otherwise  it  will  fall  on  thy  head,  and  upon  that  of  thy 
family  ;  if  thou  allowest  the  blood  to  rest  upon  the  wound, 
death  will  reap  the  fruit  of  your  negligence.  Sleep  upon 
the  offence,  and  thou  wilt  become  worthy  that  the  offence 
sleepeth  upon  thee" 

"  Then  go,  faithful  servant ;  incite  to  slaughter  both 
Saracens  and  Christians,  open  with  thy  own  hands  the 
gates,  and  deliver  us  to  the  enemy  :  indeed,  in  this  very 
town  a  wicked  Emir  killed  before  the  altars  its  glorious 
founder,  St.  Bertarius :  repeat  thou  the  wicked  deed,  for 
we  will  not  be  the  less  innocent,  thou  the  less  guilty. — 
Remit  to  me  your  quarrel ;  thy  king  begs  it  of  thee." 

"  I  cannot,  son  of  Frederick,  I  cannot  .  .  ." 

Manfred  rose  impetuously,  and,  seizing  the  Emir  by 
the  arm,  led  him  to  the  balcony,  from  which  could  be 
seen  upon  the  declivity  of  Mount  Cassino  the  ruins  of 
the  city  of  Eraclea,'  destroyed  with  fire  and  sword  by 
the  fury  of  the  Vandals. — Those  relics  appeared  solemn, 
and  truly  worthy  of  the  giants  of  Rome,  who  not  only 
emulated,  but  with  the  fragments  of  their  greatness  sur- 
passed in  magnificence  all  that  which  the  miserly  ambi- 
tion of  modern  times  attempts  to  raise. — "  There  was 
a  powerful  city,"  said  Manfred,  "  now  it  lies  a  heap  of 
stones  and  rubbish  :  it  is  now  six  centuries  since  a  fierce 
people  descended  from  the  Alps,  met  discordant  and 
jealous  citizens,  and  overran  our  beautiful  country. 
Look,"  he  added  with  more  sonorous  voice,  pointing  to 
those  ruins,  "  the  history  of  the  deeds  of  the  Vandals  is 
composed  of  such  pages.  Such  will  become  San  Ger- 
mano,  and  by  your  fault ;  but  when  future  ages  shall 
have  hidden  the  memory  of  my  kingdom  and  my  name, 
there  will  ever  a  voice  arise  from  these  ruins  that  will 


The  Saracen.  359 

cry  to  posterity  :  '  Here  a  valiant  king  was  betrayed  by 
an  unfaithful  servant.' " 

"  Oh,  if  I  could !  .  .  .  But  I  cannot,  .  .  .  Manfred,  I 
cannot. 

"  Enough  !  since  prayer  is  of  no  avail,  I  will  com- 
mand. My  people  are  my  children,  and  one  day  I  shall 
have  to  give  an  account  to  Him  who  intrusted  them  to 
my  rule.  In  virtue  of  our  royal  authority  we  order  tlree 
to  defer  this  quarrel ; — the  command  of  the  king,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  is  holy." 

"  There  are  those  who  would  deny  this,  son  of  Freder- 
ick, but  I  will  not  be  the  one.  Behold,"  and  thus  speaking 
he  struck  aslant  his  scimitar  against  the  pavement,  so  that 
it  broke  in  pieces,  "  behold,  you  break  the  sword  in  my 
hand,  take  away  the  strength  from  my  arm,  extinguish  in 
my  heart  the  spirit  of  life,  and  fill  it  with  the  seed  of 
shame ;  I  am  become  as  one  unborn,  as  one  buried  ; 
men  will  see  me,  but  will  not  recognize  me,  since  the 
Emirs  of  the  race  of  Ben-izeyen  were  wont  to  appear 
with  the  splendor  of  the  rays  of  glory.  Perhaps  a  day 
will  come  in  which  you  will  call  for  my  aid,  and  I  will 
reply  :  '  Give  me  the  arm  which  you  have  taken  away 
from  me  ; '  you  will  call  me  in  the  name  of  honor,  and  I 
will  say  to  you  :  '  O  my  lord,  how  can  I  hear  you  ?  you 
have  stupefied  my  heart,  have  closed  the  ear  of  my  glory.' 
— Praised  be  Allah,  Lord  of  the  heavens  and  of  the 
earth,  and  of  all  that  is  between  them,  the  Potent,  the  For- 
giving /  Lord  of  the  day  of  reckoning !  Blessed  be 
Thou  in  Thy  thoughts  and  in  Thy  deeds ;  but  why  hast 
Thou  willed  that  the  glorious  race  of  the  Ben-izeyen 
should  end  in  dishonor  ?  I  honor  Thee,  O  Lord,  I  wor- 
ship Thee  with  my  face  upon  the  stone ;  but  why*  hast 
Thou  inspired  the  heart  of  my  Melek  to  condemn  me 
to  feed  on  dust  ?  Oh  !  my  years  fly  and  pass  away  in 
sadness  even  into  eternity.  Had  I  but  died  a  day  before, 
the  black  day  would  have  been  spared  to  my  eyes.  Ah  ! 
often  did  my  loving  father  say,  the  worst  is  to  live  too 
long . . ."  And  he  departed  desolate,  not  tearful ;  but  over- 
come by  such  grief  as  a  strong  heart  can  feel,  the  sight 
of  which  would  excite  more  wonder  than  compassion. 


360  The  Saracen. 

Manfred  remained  immovable  for  some  time  after  the 
Emir  had  left.  Then  he  struck  his  forehead  with  his  hands, 
exclaiming  :  "  Generous  sdlil,  and  worthy  of  me  !  Be- 
hold !  crime  has  formed  alliance  with  virtue,  and  they 
both  advance  together  to  drag  me  from  my  throne  !  Won- 
ders have  already  appeared  in  the  heavens !  This  is  a 
prodigy  of  the  earth.  ...  Be  firm,  Manfred,  your  time  is 
approaching." 

"  The  enemy !  the  enemy  have  taken  the  town  ! " 
This  cry  suddenly  strikes  the  ear  of  Manfred,  and  makes 
him  start  terror-struck.  Was  it  a  fancy  of  his  agitated 
mind  ?  No  ;  he  hears  indeed  a  turmoil  and  precipitous 
running,  a  confused  crying:  "The  enemy!  the  enemy 
have  taken  the  town  !  " 

The  face  of  the  king  was  wont  to  become  pale  when 
he  thought  on  danger  ;  when  it  was  near  it  became  red. 
He  put  on  his  iron  gauntlets,  seized  his  shield,  called  his 
squire  to  fasten  his  helmet,  then  he  chose  a  lance — for 
the  rest  he  was  already  fully  armed — and  he  rushed  out 
of  the  hall,  crying  to  all  those  he  met :  "  Noble  barons, 
come  at  least  to  die  valiantly  !  " 

The  same  tumult  of  cries  and  tramping  of  horses 
reached  the  ears  of  Queen  Elena,  who,  overcome  by 
past  sufferings,  lay  sick  in  bed.  The  gentle  Yole  sat 
near  her  bed,  with  her  head  leaning  on  the  left  side,  often 
kissing  her  ;  Manfredino,  sitting  at  the  foot,  often  joined 
his  infantile  hands  and  prayed  Jesus  to  restore  his  mother's 
health. 

"  Yole  !  Yole  !  "  said  Elena,  raising  her  head,  "  do  you 
hear  ?  it  seems  to  me  a  cry  of  battle.  .  .  .  Holy  mother 
of  God !  it  comes  near ;  go  to  the  balcony,  see  what  is 
happening." 

Yole  ran  hastily  to  the  balcony,  and,  "  The  enemy !  " 
she  cries,  "  the  enemy  !  mother  .  .  .  ! " 

"  The  enemy  !  "  repeats  Elena,  sitting  up  in  bed. 

"They  are  about  forty;  .  .  .  three  seem  to  be  the  lead- 
ers ;  one  has  a  black  shield  with  drops  of  silver,  the 
other  has  for  device  a  heart  pierced  by  an  arrow,  the 
third  has  a, white  flag  .  .  .  with  red  eagle,  ...  it  is  the  flag 
of  the  Florentine  Guelphs.  .  .  .  What  blows !  mercy  on 


The  Saracen.  361 

us  !  what  blows  !  they  drive  everything  before  them,  .  .  . 
how  many  they  kill  and  wound  !  " 

"  Come,  .  .  .  support  me  ...  so  that  I  may  see  them." 

"There  is  Manfred !  What  a  whirlwind  of  horses  and 
knights !  .  .  the  dust  hides  them  all.  ...  I  see  nothing 
more." 

"  Let  me  look  on  the  arm  of  the  king  !  "  said  Elena, 
and  prepared  to  descend  from  the  bed. 

"  The  dust  is  clearing  off ;  .  .  .  our  father  has  conquered. 
...  Oh  !  how  they  run ;  .  .  .  oh !  how  he  pursues  them  at 
full  gallop  .  .  .  !  They  are  already  far  off;  .  .  .  they  have 
disappeared." 

In  order  that  our  kind  reader  might  learn  how  this 
event  happened,  we  will  inform  him  that,  a  little  outside 
the  walls  of  San  Germano,  out  of  the  Roman  gate,*  some- 
what to  the  left,  there  existed  several  wells  between  the 
city  and  the  encampment  of  Charles,  where  the  grooms 
both  of  the  French  and  Neapolitans  went  to  draw  water, 
and  often  led  the  very  horses  there  to  drink.  Charles 
might  have  easily  infected  this  water,  but  considering 
that  he  would  have  deprived  his  own  army  of  it,  as 
well  as  the  enemy,  who,  on  the  other  hand,  was  well 
provided  with  it  inside  the  walls,  he  let  it  alone  ;  the  more 
so  inasmuch  that  from  that  mingling  of  people  he  hoped, 
without  really  knowing  why,  that  there  might  arise  a  good 
opportunity  to  assail  the  town.  The  Neapolitan  grooms 
did  not  come  out  through  the  large  gate,  but  from  a  little 
door  that  was  near  it,  and  the  moment  they  were  out  it  was 
closed  again  with  heavy  iron  bars.  It  would  have  been 
temerity  rather  than  courage  to  attempt,  by  unexpectedly 
assailing  these  grooms,  to  enter  promiscuously  in  the  city 
while  these  ran  away  into  it,  nor  did  Charles  dare  order  it, 
fearing  every  man  would  refuse  it  as  certain  death,  a.nd  also 
as  being  of  doubtful  success.  Two  French  knights,  the 
brothers  Boccard  and  Jouan  Vandamme,  and  a  Florentine 
knight,  Stbldo  Giacoppi  dei  Rossi,  standard-bearer  of  the 
Italian  Guelphs,  together  with  some  fifty  other  soldiers 
accustomed  to  the  most  risky  enterprises,  agreed  to  make 
the  attempt.  Early  in  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  Febru- 
ary, they  concealed  themselves  within  a  ditch,  which  the 
16 


362  The  Saracen. 

night  before  they  had  covered  over  with  briars,  and  which 
hid  them  like  a  thatched  roof;  there  they  remained  wait- 
ing until  the  grooms  came  to  fetch  water.  The  ruse  suc- 
ceeded to  the  best  of  their  expectation.  The  Neapolitan 
grooms  came  out  from  the  town  carelessly  towards  sunset, 
going  to  the  wells,  where,  meeting  some  of  the  French 
grooms,  they  began  to  insult  them  both  with  words  and  fists, 
crying  in  mockery  of  the  count :  "  Where  is  our  Chariot  ? 
Where  is  Chariot  ? " — The  French  grooms  answered 
back,  and  hence  arose  the  most  fearful  hand  fight  that 
was  ever  seen  ;  which,  as  it  was  fought  without  weapons, 
or  for  some  reason  that  has  not  come  down  to  us,  is 
distinguished  in  the  chronicles  of  the  time  by  the  name  of 
badalucco.  At  this  point  the  hidden  knights,  issuing  from 
their  hiding  place,  assailed  the  Apulian  grooms,  and  very 
soon  drove  them  to  flight.  Those  within  the  town  seeing 
them  appear  opened  the  little  gate,  so  that  they  might 
take  refuge  within,  and  when  noticing  the  enemies  behind 
them,  they  attempted  to  shut  it,  they  were  not  in  tune,  for 
pursued  and  pursuers  rushed  in  with  the  impetuosity  of  a 
river,  and  wonderfully  swift,  passed  over  it.  They  had, 
however,  time  to  let  down  the  portcullis,  which,  falling 
heavily,  separated  six  knights  from  their  fellows,  and  pro- 
bably crushed  as  many  with  its -iron  points.  Those  that 
had  entered,  nothing  daunted  by  that  first  check,  advanced 
further,  striking  right  and  left,  and  driving  the  unprepared 
Apulians  before  them  till  they  almost  reached  the 
royal  palace.  Here  Manfred  issued  forth,  accompanied 
by  his  best  barons,  and  began  a  terrible  engagement ;  this 
did  not  long  last  doubtful,  for  the  pursued  taking  courage, 
turned  about  and  repulsed  the  enemy.  The  crowd 
more  and  more  increased  around  the  French,  who,  de- 
spairing now  of  success,  turned  thejr  backs  to  those 
whom  they  had  at  first  attacked.  Indeed,  retreat  could 
not  have  saved  them  ;  it  would  have  been  better,  there- 
fore, to  die  with  wounds  on  their  breasts ;  but  if  we  could 
reason  with  fear  as  to  the  possibility  of  escape,  we  would 
see  more  brave  deeds  than  take  place  nowadays. 

The    Count  of  Provence,  notified   of  this  occurrence 
(for  the  chronicle  narrates,  although  with  slight  appear- 


The  Saracen.  363 

ance  of  truth,  that  this  ambuscade  was  attempted  un- 
known to  him),  turned  to  the  knights  who  surrounded 
him,  and  spoke  thus  :  "  Knights,  shall  we  abandon  our 
brothers  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  because  they  were 
more  valorous  than  we?" — So  saying,  he  seized  his  heavy 
mace,  for,  from  old  habit,  he  never  took  off  his  armor 
when  he  was  in  camp,  and  rushed  out  of  his  tent.  Tra- 
dition states  that  on  the  way  he  exclaimed  :  "  O  glorious 
Saint  Martin  of  Tours ;  we  make  a  vow  to  present  to 
your  sanctuary  a  solid  golden  candlestick,  if  you  will 
enable  us  to  save  those  valiant  knights  of  ours  ! " 

Let  us  see  what  the  flower  of  French  chivalry  can  do. 
They  had  arrived  an  arrow's  distance  from  the  walls, 
when  the  Neapolitans  darted  their  javelins.  At  that  first 
discharge  many  knights  lost  their  horses,  many  horses 
their  knights ;  those  that  followed,  unable  to  restrain  their 
horses  coming  in  full  gallop,  stumbled  over  them  :  hence 
there  arose  a  sudden  confusion,  a  sort  of  wavering  all 
along  the  line.  Charles,  however,  had  run  ahead,  and  pre- 
ceded them  at  the  distance  of  three  lances ;  they  rallied, 
and,  bolder  than  before,  spurred  after  him.  A  new  dis- 
charge of  javelins  succeeded,  and  a  new  confusion.  In 
such  manner  they  could  not  accomplish  aught :  the  count 
perceived  this,  and  thought  of  a  remedy ;  he  dismounts 
from  his  horse,  takes  off  the  saddle,  and  placing  it  over 
his  head,  continues  his  way  towards  the  walls  ,  his  follow- 
ers imitate  him,  and  through  this  expedient,  better  pro- 
tected, they  reached  the  Roman  gate.  Here  they  were 
assailed  by  a  shower  of  missiles,  iron  pointed  beams,  and 
every  sort  of  weapons  thrown  by  the  besieged  ;  while  on  the 
part  of  the  assailants  there  was  no  reply  made,  but  a  fear- 
ful and  incessant  hammering  of  maces  against  both  the  gate 
and  the  postern.  Charles  above  every  other  hammered 
desperately  against  the  small  gate,  and  at  every  blow  one 
could  see  flying  around  nails,  splinters  and  clouds  of 
dust.  Not  being  all  able  to  work  around  the  gates,  some 
with  unadvisable  temerity  attempted  to  escalade  the  walls; 
but  their  strength  failing,  part  of  them,  pulled  down  by 
their  own  weight,  grazing  the  walls  and  leaving  against  it 
the  skin  of  their  hands  and  face,  fell  headlong  to  the 


364  The  Saracen. 

• 

ground,  a  heap  of  mangled  bones  ;  otHers,  having  reached 
the  battlements,  repulsed  by  a  spear  on  the  breast,  wav- 
ing their  arms  in  the  air,  would  fall  cutting  a  curve  in  the 
sky ;  some  fell  wounded  by  their  own  weapons,  some  by 
falling  upon  the  spears  of  those  standing  below.  There 
were  cases  in  which  those  falling  killed  the  companions 
upon  whom  they  fell,  and  they  by  a  strange  chance  re- 
mained unhurt.  Death  revelled  in  full  sway. 

Convinced  now  by  such  bloody  experiment  that  in  this 
manner  they  were  unable  to  ascend,  the  French  were 
about  to  retire,  when  a  voice  arose  to  encourage  them, 
crying  :  "  The  gate  is  broken  !  "  And  in  truth  Charles, 
hammering  with  his  mace,  had  done  so  much,  that  the  lit- 
tle gate  had  fallen  from  its  hinges,  and  he,  followed  by  his 
knights,  had  passed  the  threshold.  At  the  same  moment 
that  he  stepped  inside,  a  shower  of  arrows  covered  all  his 
body  without  wounding  him,  for  he  was  predestined  ;  but 
one  of  these  arrows  passed  through  the  bars  of  the  visor 
of  young  Joinville,  reputed  the  most  gallant  and  brave 
young  knight,  and  piercing  through  his  left  eye,  entered 
the  brain  :  he  fell,  saddened  not  by  his  premature  death, 
but  by  the  thought  of  his  aged  father  left  desolate  in  the 
vast  castle  of  his  ancestors.  Poor  father  !  of  several  chil- 
dren this  one  only  had  been  left  to  him,  his  only  hope 
and  comfort  in  his  weary  old  age  ;  it  would  have  been 
mercy  to  have  spared  him  !  The  good  old  baron  in  his 
secret  heart  had  prepared  a  wife  for  him,  his  neighbor's 
daughter,  whom  he  knew  the  young  knight  had  met 
under  the  oak  ;  he  sought  for  this  oak,  and  on  its  bark 
he  found  traced  the  names  of  the  lovers,  and  drawing  his 
poniard,  with  a  hand  trembling  with  age  and  joy,  he  had 
carved  his  own,  as  of  a  hand  imposed  upon  them  to  bless 
them. — Poor  father.  Strangers  and  mercenary  people 
laid  him  down  on  his  bier,  and  distant  relatives  inherited 
his  castle.  It  was  perhaps  pity  for  the  brave  youth,  or 
perhaps  natural  hesitation  of  fear,  that  arrested  the  French 
on  the  threshold  of  the  small  gate.  Charles  turns  his 
head,  sees  them  wavering,  and  exclaims  :  "  Does  this 
seem  a  gate  to  pass  without  toll?  We  have  paid  it ;  let 
us  then  march  on  to  victory." 


The  Saracen.  365 

Having  passed  through  the  gate,  there  was  yet  the 
portcullis  to  be  overcome.  The  slaughter  recommenced, 
for  the  Neapolitans  from  behind  the  gratings  darted  arrows 
incessantly,  and  the  French  had  none  to  reply ;  they 
crowded  about  the  timbers,  and  struck  them  such  fearful 
blows  with  their  axes,  that  had  they  not  been  covered 
over  with  brass,  they  would  have  scattered  them  in  splin- 
ters, and  opened  the  way  ;  but  the  brass  resisted  their 
fury ;  the  vain  attempts  proved  it  to  be  a  useless  work, 
which  could  not  be  accomplished  except  with  long  time 
and  hard  labor. 

Another  incident  was  added  to  dishearten  them.  The 
brothers  Vandatnme,  Stoldo  dei  Rossi  and  the  few  left  of 
their  companions  were  flying  toward  the  gate.  When  they 
were  within  twenty  steps  of  it,  seeing  the  portcullis  low- 
ered, recognizing  their  companions,  ashamed  to  be  caught 
in  that  act  of  flying,  knowing  there  was  no  means  of 
escape,  they  turned  desperately  back,  and  yelling  fiercely 
rushed  against  their  pursuers  :  but  it  was  in  vain  ;  for 
Manfred  arrived  thundering,  and  assailants  issued  from 
everywhere,  pressing  upon  them.  After  a  few  more  mo- 
ments of  bestial  fight,  in  which  they  fouglrt  even  with  their 
teeth,  totally  exhausted,  they  threw  up  those  few  weapons 
that  had  remained  to  them,  and  asked  for  quarter.  Any 
one  who  reads  may  imagine  how  bitter  was  this  sight  to 
those  who  stood  outside  the  portcullis.  It  is  told  of  one 
baron  who  was  so  blinded  by  rage,  that  he  inserted  his 
hand  armed  with  a  battle  axe  through  the  gratings,  think- 
ing that,  by  throwing  it,  he  might  reach  the  fight  that  was 
going  on  twenty  and  more  steps  distant  from  him  ;  a  blow 
falling  from  the  sword  of  Giordano  Lancia,  severed  it  near 
the  elbow,  and  taught  him  never  to  insert  it  again  through 
any  portcullis  gratings ;  and  the  chronicle  states  that  he 
never  did  it  again.  The  fears  of  the  Count  of  Provence 
now  were  realized  ;  he  thought  of  sounding  a  retreat ;  the 
attempt  to  secure  a  victory  by  valor  was  lost,  there  only 
remained  the  chance  of  accomplishing  it  by  good  fortune. 

Evening  was  approaching.  Manfred,  after  the  surrender 
of  the  brothers  Vandamme,  of  Stoldo  and  only  six  others 
of  the  fifty  that  had  attempted  the  ambuscade,  was  about 


366  The  Saracen. 

to  order  the  lifting  of  the  portcullis  in  order  to  rush  upoc 
the  enemy,  and  repulse  him  from  the  walls.  All  at  once 
he  hears  on  his  rear  a  running  of  people,  and  a  wild  cry 
of  "  The  enemy  ! — the  enemy  ! "  he  turns  his  head  and 
perceives  a  flag  flying  on  the  turret  of  the  gate  of  the 
Rapido  which  did  not  look  like  his ;  he  trained  his  sight, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  looked  again,  and  asked  of  Count  Cal- 
vagno,  who  stood  beside  him:  "The  Lord  aid  us;  that 
does  not  seem  our  flag.  Look  at  it,  count,  for  the  air  is 
thick,  and  we  do  not  discern  well." 

"  O  my  good  king,"  replied  Count  Calvagno,  "  you 
have  not  been  mistaken ;  the  flag  is  blue,  but  within  are 
the  lilies  of  France." 

"  How  can  it  be  ?  .  Are  not  the  Saracens  on  guard  on 
those  walls?"  And  furiously  spurring  his  horse,  he 
rode  in  that  direction. 

While  he  rushes  to  inquire  into  the  matter,  we  will  nar- 
rate how  it  all  happened.  Guy  de  Montfort,  the  best 
master  of  war  that  the  French  army  possessed,  and  who, 
being  in  the  most  intimate  councils  of  Charles,  partici- 
pated in  all  his  plans,  observing  the  progress  of  the  attack 
of  which  he  had  disapproved,  thought  that,  since  they  had 
begun,  he  would  strive  to  render  its  results  of  the  least 
possible  injury  to  the  French.  Therefore,  taking  some  com- 
panies of  Burgundian  troops,  whilst  Charles  was  righting 
furiously  before  the  gate,  he  marched  around  San  Germane, 
forded  the  river  Rapido,  and  presented  himself  unobserved 
before  the  gate  of  that  name  ;  the  further  he  advanced  the 
less  noise  he  heard ;  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  battlements, 
there  was  not  a  sentry  visible ;  he  looked  to  the  turrets, 
not  even  a  guard ;  he  wondered,  advanced  cautiously 
fearing  some  ambuscade.  They  arrive  under  the  walls, 
saw  no  one ;  lean  the  ladders  against  them  and  began  to 
ascend ;  not  a  person  looks  out.  Mount  upon  the  bat- 
tlements ;  they  are  deserted.  "  God  hatlrblinded  them  !  " 
exclaims  Montfort  devoutly.  "  God  hath  blinded  them  !  " 
repeat  the  soldiers,  and  advance  further.  He  fortifies  the 
walls,  places  his  bravest  troops  in  the  turrets,  and  hoists 
his  flag  there  ;  he  descends,  opens  the  city  gate  ;  and  de- 
spatches messengers  to  Charles,  asking  him  to  hasten  on 


The  Saracen.  367 

that  side,  for  the  city  was  taken.  The  news  reached 
Charles  just  as  he  was  about  ordering  the  retreat.  He  re- 
gained his  fallen  spirit,  and  since  he  was  for  that  day  in 
love  with  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  "  O  glorious  baron,"  ex- 
claimed he,  signing  himself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  "two 
\yill  be  the  golden  candlesticks  that  I  will  present  to  your 
temple  of  Tours,  of  twenty  pounds  each  ! "  ^  His  troops 
also  took  new  courage  at  the  news,  and  he,  ordering  that 
they  should  still  pretend  to  insist  in  their  attack  on  that 
side,  starts  for  the  place  where  fortune  had  fought  for  him. 
Manfred  learned  on  his  way  there,  that  the  report  of 
his  having  refused  free  field  to  their  Emir  against  Anga- 
lone  having  been  spread  among  the  Saracens,  they  had 
abandoned  their  posts,  and  retired  to  their  quarters  to 
weep  over  the  head  of  Jussuff,  as  if  he  were  buried;  and 
that  the  enemy,  taking  advantage  of  the  occasion,  scaled 
the  walls,  and  had  taken  possession  of  them.  Manfred 
was  disturbed,  but  not  disheartened  on  this  account,  and 
hastening  to  the  relief,  passed  under  the  quarters  of  the 
Saracens  and  called  :  "  Jussuff!  Jussuff." 

"What  wills  the  Melek  from  the  beast  that  has. 
speech  ?  "  replied  the  Emir,  appearing  over  the  terrace 
with  a  mournful  face. 

"  Did  I  not  foretell  it  to  thee  ?  Through  you  the 
enemy  are  within  the  city ;  come  out  to  the  rescue  .  .  ." 

'  How  can  I  without  a  sword  ?  " 

'  I  will  give  thee  mine." 

'  And  who  will  give  me  the  arm  ?  " 
The  battle." 
And  the  heart  ?  " 

;  I  will  tear  it  from  thy  breast  if  ever  I  reach  thee," 
cried  Manfred,  angered,  "  accursed  in  the  soul  of  thy 
father,  in  the  holiness  of  thy  faith  !  "  and  without  dallying 
further,  gallops  on,  eager  to  come  to  battle. 

And  behold  the  strife  raging  in  different  parts  of  the 
city  with  different  success  !  Night  having  supervened,  it 
rendered  it  still  more  frightful.  The  French,  who  had  en- 
tered it  by  surprise,  now  showed  themselves  worthy  to  have 
conquered  it  by  valor ;  repulse  did  not  shake  them.  Set 
upon  from  above,  from  the  sides,  in  front,  they  returned 


368  The  Saracen. 

to  the  assault  with  wonderful  courage  :  it  was  not  an  or- 
dered battle,  but  an  infinite  number  of  skirmishes  fought 
in  the  streets,  and  in  the  squares  ;  every  corner  of  a  street 
presented  a  new  defence  to  the  Neapolitans,  every  house 
a  bulwark ;  from  both  sides  resounded  loudly  in  the 
dark  the  war-cry  :  "Monjoy  !  Monjoy  /  France  et  Saint 
Martin!  Swabia  !  Swabia  !  Manfred  and  the  Imperial 
Eagle!"  The  troops  drunk  with  blood  rushed  impetu- 
ously, blindly  striking  right  and  left  both  enemies  and 
friends.  To  a  terrible  darkness  succeeded  a  more  terrible 
light:  fires  broke  out  on  every  side;  scenes  presented 
themselves  worthy  only  for  demons  to  look  upon  ;  arms, 
men,  horses  in  a  heap ;  the  face  of  the  dying  more 
ghastly  by  that  lurid  light,  the  face  of  the  fighters  more 
threatening  ;  arms  and  glittering  swords,  as  if  suspended  in 
the  vacuum,  appearing  from  the  darkness,  striking  down 
and  disappearing ;  wounded  men  with  agonizing  cries  dis- 
appearing in  the  darkness,  and  reappearing  through  the 
reflection  of  the  flames,  showing  at  every  instant  their  fast 
approach  to  death  ;  imploring  looks  answered  by  murder- 
ous blows,  and  these  avenged  by  still  more  bloody  homi- 
cides ;  blood  calling  for  blood  ;  some  who  killed  in  front 
were  often  killed  from  behind  ;  even  the  horses,  maddened 
by  the  fury  of  the  battle,  rushed  wildly,  neighing  through 
the  battle,  tearing  with  their  teeth,  trampling  on  the  fallen 
whether  dead  or  alive,  their  feet  and  legs  besmeared  with 
blood. 

Histories  and  chronicles  of  the  time  agree  in  stating  that 
had  not  the  Neapolitans  lost  courage  by  the  unexpected 
entrance  of  the  enemy  into  the  city,  and  the  fear  that 
the  Saracens  would  turn  their  weapons  against  Manfred, 
they  would  have  been  the  conquerors ;  but  disheartened 
just  at  the  moment  when  they  most  needed  courage, 
decimated  by  the  fierce  valor  of  the  French  constantly 
reinforced  by  fresh  troops,  they  began  to  yield.  They  only 
made  a  stand  in  the  street  where  Manfred  fought ;  finally 
even  here,  assailed  from  all  the  surrounding  streets  which 
had  fallen  into  the  power  of  the  enemy,  they  turned  their 
backs,  crying  :  "  Sauve  qui pent." 

Then  commenced  a  most  miserable  slaughter.     The 


The  Saracen.  369 

enemy  pressed  after  them  with  the  fury  of  wild  beasts  ; 
they  killed  whomsoever  they  met,  whether  resisting  or  not ; 
they  spared  neither  age  nor  sex.  We  have  not  the  heart  : 
to  narrate  the  excesses  committed  during  that  night  by 
the  French  army,  although  we  know  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  history  of  men  is  composed  of  such  deeds.  It  is 
enough  to  state  that  both  by  fire  and  by  sword  the  dead 
amounted  to  over  ten  thousand. 

Manfred,  carried  along  with  the  flight  of  his  soldiers,  con- 
vinced that  the  voice  of  fear  had  become  more  powerful 
than  his,  desiring  of  dying  with  wounds  on  his  breast, 
made  a  last  effort  to  rally,  and  turned  his  horse  towards 
the  enemy.  He  would  have  met  what  he  sought  for,  be- 
cause, conspicuous  by  the  silver  eagle  which  he  wore  for 
a  crest  on  his  helmet,  all  the  enemy's  swords  would  have 
been  turned  against  him,  had  not  a  fresh  troop,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  before,  issuing  forth  from  a  street  that  led 
to  the  gate  of  Abbruzzo,  surrounded  him  with  the  cry : 
"  Swabia  !  Swabia  !  "  A  knight  of  gigantic  stature,  wear- 
ing a  wolf  for  a  crest,  approached  him,  leaping  his  horse 
through  the  crowd ;  and  bending  over  the  saddle,  said  to 
him  in  haste  :  "  Glorious  king,  the  city  is  taken,  the  Pro- 
ven^al  victorious.  If  we  had  arrived  sooner,  we  would 
have  made  you  conquer ;  now  we  can  do  nothing  but  save 
you.  You  know  us  not,  but  we  are  your  friends." 

The  hour  has  not  yet  arrived,  thought  Manfred  ;  then 
he  replied  to  the  knight,  "Great  thanks,  baron,  since  you 
have  come,  1  accept  you  ;  we  may  yet  arrest  the  fortune 
of  Charles  at  Benevento." 

"  And  if  it  please  God,  reverse  it ! "  added  the  un- 
known. Then,  raising  his  voice,  which  resounded  above 
the  din  of  war  around  it,  he  ordered  his  men  to  put  their 
lances  in  rest,  and  advance  in  close  phalanx.  That  bat- 
talion of  iron  marched  forward,  cutting  its  way  against  all 
opposition,  and  slowly  advancing,  like  a  heavy  chariot, 
approached  the  gate  of  Abbruzzo,  still  known  as  St. 
John's  gate. 

"  My  children  !  the  queen  ! "  exclaimed  Manfred,  sud- 
denly; and  without  saying  a  word  to  the  knight  that  rode 
16* 


The  Saracen. 


beside  him,  turned  his  horse  in  the  direction  they  had 
cgme. 

"  His  children  !  "  was  heard  at  the  same  time  a  voice 
exclaiming  from  the  middle  of  the  squadron,  "let  us  save 
them." 

Now  let  it  not  be  irksome  to  our  gentle  reader  that 
we,  using  a  privilege  common  to  all  novel  writers,  should 
turn  a  step  backwards,  for  we  have  something  to  relate 
respecting  Queen  Elena  and  her  children. 

Corrado  cli  Pierleone  Benincasa,  master  of  the  defence 
of  the  royal  palace  of  San  Germano,  learning  that  the 
city  had  been  taken  by  assault,  wondered  in  not  seeing 
Manfred  and  his  followers  come  to  its  rescue.  Fear- 
ing, therefore,  that  he  might  have  been  killed,  he  col- 
lected hastily  all  the  knights  that  had  remained  on  guard 
in  the  palace,  and  spoke  thus  :  "  Any  one  among  you 
who  desires  to  save  his  life  with  shame,  let  him  imme- 
diately depart,  and  take  refuge  wherever  his  heart  dic- 
tates ;  whoever,  though,  desires  to  remain  faithful  to  his 
king,  let  him  know  that  there  is  nothing  left  us  but  an 
honorable  death." 

They  all  replied  that  they  desired  to  remain  faithful  to 
Manfred  ;  that  they  feared  not  death,  but  dishonor.  Cor- 
rado, deeply  moved,  exclaimed  :  "  May  Heaven  protect 
your  valor  and  loyalty!"  Then  he  strengthened  the 
gates,  distributed  the  soldiers,  and  recommended  himself 
to  Divine  Providence,  trusting  in  its  aid.  Having  ful- 
filled all  the  duties  of  a  wise  captain  under  the  circum- 
stances, he  directed  his  steps  to  the  queen's  apartment. 
The  faithful  baron  wavered  in  ascending  the  steps,  he 
wept,  and  joining  his  hands,  from  time  to  time  would  sigh  : 
"  O  noble  house  of  Manfred,  how  low  fallen  !  "  To  the 
maidens  and  servants  who  came  in  his  way,  and  anxiously 
asked  :  "  What  news,  Sir  Corrado  ?  "  he  would  reply, 
"  Recommend  yourselves  to  God,"  and  went  on.  Reach- 
ing the  queen's  rooms,  he  stopped  a  moment,  brushed 
away  his  tears  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  knocked 
softly.  Gismonda  opened  to  him.  Corrado  entered,  as- 
suming a  bold  expression  ;  but  when  he  perceived  his 
king's  family,  unable  to  restrain  himself,  he  broke  forth 


The  Saracen.  371 

in  tears,  and  kneeled  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  where  lay 
the  queen. 

"  What  means  this,  great  chancellor  ?  "  asked  the 
noble  Elena. 

"  My  queen,  the  town  is  taken  .  .  ." 

"Taken! — and  Manfred?"  Corrado  did  not  reply. 
"  Glorious  Virgin  !  Is  he  dead,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Dead  !  "  cried  with  one  voice  Yole  and  Manfredino. 

"  I  know  not  whether  he  be  dead  or  alive,  .  .  .  but  he 
is  dead  for  us,  for  he  does  not  come  to  our  rescue." 

"  He  might  have  abandoned  the  ten  to  save  the  hun- 
dred. Is  there  any  escape,  chancellor  ?  " 

"  None.     Now,  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Gismonda,"  spoke  the  queen,  with  an  altered  voice, 
"  bring  me  my  royal  mantle  and  my  crown." 

These  were  brought  to  her  ;  she  wrapped  herself  in 
the  first,  placed  the  other  on  her  head,  descended  from 
the  bed,  and  sat  in  a  throne-like  seat,  with  a  child  on  each 
side  ;  then  said  to  Corrado  :  "  See,  Corrado,  what  is 
left  us  to  do — to  die  like  a  queen ;  had  we  been  a  knight 
we  should  not  have  asked  any  one"  what  we  had  to  do." 

"  Noble  queen,  speak  not  thus.  I  have  provided  for 
myself  and  my  followers,  according  to  the  rules  of  honor. 
I  only  came  to  ask  whether  you  knew  any  secret  way  that 
led  out  of  the  palace,  to  put  you  in  safety,  so  that  while 
we  should  be  defending  the  gate  of  the  palace,  you  and 
your  children  might  escape  the  fury  of  the  enemy." 

"  We  know  no  other  means  of  safety,  and  even  if  we 
knew  it,  it  should  have  been  a  means  of  safety  for  all  or 
for  none." 

"  Magnanimous  being  !  Farewell,  my  sweet  lady  ; 
be  assured  that  the  French  will  never  reach  you  except 
through  here  ; "  and  he  touched  his  breast.  "  May  it 
please  you  to  allow  me  to  kiss  for  the  last  time  your 
royal  hand,  and  assure  me  of  your  grace  if  ever  I  did 
aught  that  might  have  displeased  your  royal  highness. 
As  for  the  rest,  remember  me  in  your  prayers." 

He  took  up  Manfredino  in  his  arms,  kissed  him  on  his 
forehead,  and  restoring  him  to  his  mother's  arms,  prayed 
fervently  :  "  O  Lord  Jesus,  who  was  crucified  for  us,  grant 


372  The  Saracen. 

that  Thy  servant  might  save  this  innocent  boy  ! — Listen ! 
listen  !  the  assault  has  already  begun.  I  must  hence — 
Swabia  !  Swabia  !  my  knights ! "  he  cried,  running  to- 
wards the  door,  where  arriving  he  turned  towards  the 
queen,  repeating  the  prayer :  "  Recommend  me  to  God." 

The  assault  on  the  palace  had  lasted  now  more  than 
an  hour ;  but  although  the  Apulian  barons  held  on  with 
admirable  constancy,  it  was  clear  that  they  could  not 
last  much  longer,  when  of  a  sudden  the  enemy's  blows 
began  to  slacken,  and  presently  to  cease  entirely  ;  soon 
they  heard  the  enemy  scatter  in  flight,  and  a  few  minutes 
after  resounding  the  joyfiil  cry  of  "  Long  live  Manfred  ! " 

"  Open  to  the  king ! "  cried  hundreds  of  voices  ;  and 
those  on  the  inside,  having  recognized  the  silver  eagle, 
opened  the  door.  Manfred  entered,  accompanied  by  a 
few  knights ;  the  remaining  ones  stopped  around  the  gate. 
He  advanced  anxiously,  traversed  the  court-yard,  and  ar- 
rived at  the  staircase  ;  it  was  dark.  On  placing  his  foot 
on  the  first  step  it  stumbled  on  a  body ;  a  deep  groan 
and  painful  lament  arose  from  it.  They  brought  torches, 
and  he  recognized  in  the  dying  man  the  faithful  Benin- 
casa, who,  mortally  wounded  by  an  arrow  in  his. .breast, 
had  dragged  himself  to  die  tranquilly  at  his  post 

"  Corrado,  do  you  recognize  me  ?  "  Manfred  asked  him 
pitifully. 

"  Ah  !  indeed  I  do,  .  .  ."  replied  the  dying  baron,  rais- 
ing his  heavy  eyes  ;  "  you  lose  the  most  faithful ; .  .  .  and 
1  ...  I  die  happy  in  having  saved  yonr  family  .  .  ." 

"No;  you  "will  live,  Corrado!"  broke  forth  Manfred, 
and  leaned  towards  him  ; .  . .  but  he  had  breathed  his  last. 
A  tear  fell  from  the  eye  of  the  king  upon  the  face  of  the 
dead ;  but  time  pressed,  and  he  rushed  on  in  deep  sobs. 

On  the  morning  after  the  Proven9al  had  become  master 
of  San  Germano,  the  brutal  rabble,  in  order  to  please  the 
new  master,  put  a  rope  around  the  neck  of  the  faithful 
Benincasa,  and  dragged  him  ignominiously  through  the 
streets  of  the  city.  Time,  however,  true  dispenser  of  jus- 
tice, has  rendered  the  verdict  whether  in  that  moment  the 
disgraced  one  was  Corrado  Benincasa,  or  the  Count  of 
Provence,  who,  having  the  power,  did  not  prevent  it  I 


The  Saracen.  373 

have  sure  faith  that  the  avenging  angel  noted  that  deed, 
arfd  that  even  from  that  hour  Charles  d'Anjou  rendered 
himself  deserving  of  the  divine  ire  that  so  bitterly  pun- 
ished him  in  the  Sicilian  Vespers. 

The  family  of  King  Manfred  heard  hasty  steps  ap- 
proaching their  room  ;  heard  the  pressure  on  the  door 
fastenings.  Manfredino  hid  himself  behind  his  mother's 
mantle  ;  Gismonda  uttered  a  cry ;  the  queen  rose,  and 
Yole  came  near  to  support  her. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  it,  .  .  ."  said  the  queen,  remov- 
ing from  her  her  daughter's  arms,  and  stood  in  a  dignified 
attitude. 

The  folding  doors  fly  open.  ..."  Blessed  Virgin  ! 
Manfred  ! "  The  king  utters  not  a  word,  runs  towards 
the  queen,  puts  his  sword  between  his  teeth,  and  lifting  his 
wife  on  his  right  arm,  his  son  on  his  left,  carries  them  out 
of  the  room. 

A  Tcnight  of  splendid  form,  although  armed  cap-a-pie, 
approaches  Yole  and  offers  his  hand  ;  the  modest  maiden 
blushes,  and  refuses  timidly.  The  knight  approaches 
near  and  whispers  a  word.  What  has  he  said  to  her? 
Has  he  perhaps  charmed  her  by  magic?  ...  I  know  not ; 
but  she  rushes  to  his  embrace,  as  if  forgetful  of  her  station, 
forgetful  of  her  decorum.  He  lifts  her  up  in  hi§  arms, 
and  follows  Manfred.  Whatever  was  the  impulse  that 
agitated  Yole  in  that  first  moment,  it  was  not  sufficient 
to  efface  the  natural  delicacy  for  which  she  was  famous 
above  all  the  maidens  of  Italy.  Hardly  had  they  reached 
the  threshold  of  the  room,  than  she  cried,  "  Where  is  Gis- 
monda ?  " 

"  Here  I  am  !  "  replied  the  maiden,  who,  escorted  by 
another  knight,  walked  beside  her ;  "  I  am  following  you, 
my  lady." — Yole  smiled  to  her  encouragingly. 

In  descending  the  stairs,  the  knight,  whose  crest  was  a 
wolf,  perceiving  the  king  burdened  in  carrying  both  the 
queen  and  his  boy,  spoke  thus  :  "  Monseigneur,  you  can- 
not go  on  so." 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  boy." 


374  The  Saracen. 

"  My  son  !  you  want  my  son  ?  If  I  should  give  him  to 
you,  will  you  restore  him  safe  to  my  arms  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so,  ...  or  at  least  he  will  not  die  before  me." 

"  Take  him,  then  ! "  And  he  handed  the  boy  to  him. 
The  robust  knight  raised  him  in  his  arms,  and  as  the  boy, 
in  leaving  his  father's  arms,  bewailed,  he  chided  him,  say- 
ing, "  Children  of  kings  should  not  cry."  Then  Manfredino 
was  silent,  and  the  knight,  sitting  him  on  his  left  arm,  said  : 
"  Hold  close  to  my  neck ; "  which  having  been  done,  he 
covered  him  with  his  enormous  shield,  so  that  he  could 
not  have  been  hit  in  any  part.  "  Now  you  «may  sleep 
there,  for  you  are  safe,"  he  added,  and  rushed  down  the 
steps,  from  where  he  had  had  the  body  of  poor  Benincasa 
removed,  not  to  sadden  the  eyes  of  the  royal  family. 

They  issued  into  the  open  air.  The  enemy  had  disap- 
peared. They  heard  from  afar  a  clashing  of  swords,  a  con- 
fused crying  of  "  Swabia  !  Monjoy  /"  They  wondered,  nor 
could  imagine  what  it  could  be  ;  they  took  advantage  of 
the  propitious  occasion,  and  mounting  their  horses,  lifting 
the  ladies  in  front  of  their  saddles,  spurred  towards  the 
gate  of  Saint  John.  Without  meeting  any  adventures 
worth  noting,  they  reached  the  walls,  went  out  of  the 
gate,  and  galloped  towards  the  open  country,  crying  often 
with  cheerful  voices,  "  The  king  is  safe." 

Manfred,  often  recurring  in  his  mind  to  the  events  of 
that  memorable  night,  would  exclaim,  both  with  pleasure 
and  regret :  "  Even  misfortune  is  good  for  something  ; 
had  it  not  been  for  that,  I  should  never  have  known  these 
faithful  ones  who  surround  me." 

Shall  I  turn  back  to  contemplate  for  the  last  time  the 
conquered  city  ?  I  will,  for  the  angel  has  not  forbidden 
me  under  penalty  of  being  changed  into  a  statue  of 
salt.  Behold,  it  burns  like  Gomorrah  :  the  one  guilty  of 
rebellion  to  God,  the  other  guilty  of  rebellion  to  its  king. 
I  say  both  guilty,  for  otherwise -I  could  not  understand 
why  the  same  punishment  should  have  fallen  upon  them. 
A  few  hours  of  fire  burns  works  over  which  human  indus- 
try has  labored  for  many  years  !  The  palace  of  the 
baron  and  the  hut  of  the  poor  now  fall  together  in  the 
universal  destruction  ;  the  citizens,  whether  partisans  of 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  375 

Manfred  or  Charles,  robbed ;  their  houses  plundered, 
those  resisting,  killed  ;  the  weak,  mocked.  Indeed,  the 
Count  of  Provence  had  assured  all  who  would  give  cred- 
ence to  his  assurances,  that  he  had  come  to  release  the 
Apulians  from  the  Swabian  oppression,  and  called  him- 
self a  liberator.  Nor  were  sacred  persons  and  prop- 
erty better  protected  : — clergymen,  venerable  for  holi- 
ness of  life,  for  age  and  learning,  cruelly  maltreated  by 
the  savage,  soldiery ;  the  devout  offerings  of  the  faithful 
before  the  images  of  saints,  stolen  if  of  gold,  let  alone 
if  of  wax  ;  even  the  images  and  statues  of  saints,  broken 
and  shared  if  of  precious  metal,  let  alone  if  painted  or 
of  wood.  What  more  ? — the  mind  recoils  at  the  sad  re- 
cital' ;  the  sacred  oil  scattered  to  the  ground,  or  used  to 
anoint  their  beards  ;  the  eucharistic  bread  scattered  about, 
and  the  golden  vases  and  chalices  containing  it  seized,  to 
be  gambled  off  at  dice,  or  to  drink  out  of  them.  Yet  the 
Count  of  Provence  swore  that  he  had  come  to  restore 
religion  in  the  kingdom  of  a  heretic,  and  called  himself 
the  first-born  of  the  Church  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    SORROWFUL   NIGHT. 

Un  angioletto  con  le  man  di  rose 
Chiuse  gli  occhi  infelici  in  tanta  angoscia. 

SAN  BENEDETTO. 

A  little  cherub,  with  its  hands  of  rose, 
Closed  her  unhappy  eyes  on  all  her  woes. 

M.  G.   M. 

5 AD  is   the  kingdom    of  darkness — sad. as   the 
thoughts    of  a   fugitive    king.     As   it   happens 
sometimes  to  the  decrepid  old  man  to  recall  the 
days  of  his  youth — for  there  is  no  age  without 
its  joys — and  his  blood  would  flow  warmer,   his  pulses 


376  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

beat  faster,  his  face  become  red  with  a  crimson  flush  ; 
when  of  a  sudden,  being  on  the  brink  of  the  sepulchre, 
the  jmage  of  death  would  assail  him  stronger  than  ever, 
and  freeze  all  his  hopes ;  likewise  the  spirit  of  Manfred, 
though  looking  back  to  some  of  the  past  events  of  that 
memorable  night,  derived  comfort  from  them ;  yet  soon 
after,  the  weight  of  the  present  misfortune  and  the  fear 
of  the  future  discouraged  him.  The  fates  had  deprived 
him  even  of  the  flattery  of  hope  !  He  rode  silently  ;  he 
might  have  shown  himself  cheerful,  even  narrate  the 
pleasant  legend;  for  he  was  capable  of  dissimulating  above 
any  other  man  in  his  times  ;  much  resembling  in  this  the 
land  of  his  kingdom,  that  bewitches  the  looker-on  with 
the  treasures  of  creation,  at  the  same  time  that  the  vol- 
cano is  preparing  ruin  for  it  in  its  bowels ;  yet,  knowing 
that  it  would  avail  him  nothing  to  pretend  cheerfulness, 
and  even  if  it  had,  no  one  would  have  believed  him, 
he  abandoned  himself  to  the  sadness  of  his  thoughts. 
His  followers,  convinced  that  if  there  was  any  way  of 
safety,  Manfred  would  have  found  it  before  them — for 
misfortune  never  cowed  him  down,  and  he  was  a  man  to 
do  by  himself — also  rode  on  silently.  Without  resting  a 
moment,  they  arrived  at  San  Pietro  in  Fine,  a  town  eight 
miles  distant  from  San  Germane.  They  wanted  to  stop 
there,  but  the  place  did  not  seem  safe  enough  ;  tliey  re- 
solved to  continue  their  flight.  The  horses,  although 
tired,  justified  the  trust  that  the  knights  had  placed  in 
their  niettle. 

"Are  you  suffering?"  asked  Manfred  of  the  noble 
Elena,  who,  chilled  by  the  sharp  wind,  aching  from  having 
remained  a  long  time  in  the  same  position,  and  weak  from 
the  nervous  debility  that  had  for  so  long  afflicted  her, 
had  unconsciously  sighed. 

"  I  ?  Think  only  of  saving  yourself,  think  of  saving 
my  children." 

"  You  do  suffer,"  insisted  Manfred. 

"  Oh,  mind  it  not !  Perhaps  this  suffering  of  mine 
will  be  accepted  as  part  of  the  expiation  ! " 

"  No,  no  ;  white  is  white,  nor  does  the  tare  change  the 
nature  of  the  wheat ;  every  soul  is  for  itself.  Jn  the 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  377 

valley  of  Jehoshaphat  every  living  being  will  answer  for  his 
own  sins.  You  ought  not  to  suffer  on  my  account." 

Now  they  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain  Ces- 
ima,  on  the  summit  of  which  even  to  this  day  we  per- 
ceive the  town  of  Presenzano.  Manfred  ordered  that 
they  should  leave  the  beaten  road,  and,  turning  to  the 
right,  get  into  the  pine  woods  that  shade  all  its  declivity, 
for  he  intended  to  halt  there. 

The  order  was  cheerfully  obeyed,  for  the  precipitate 
flight  and  shrewdly  biting  air  of  the  night  had  subdued 
even  the  bravest.  They  went  perhaps  a  hundred  steps 
into  the  woods,  and  there  they  stopped.  In  less  than 
no  time  there  arose  a  cheerful  fire  to  unstiffen  their  limbs. 
Manfred  turned  around  and  saw  Elena  at  his  side,  and 
Yole  at  the  side  of  Elena.  .  .  .  Manfredino  was  wanting  ; 
but,  turning  his  head,  saw  the  knight,  who  handed  him 
to  him  safe  and  sound.  The  king  took  him  in  his  arms  ; 
the  boy  smiled,  and  raising  his  hands  caressed  his  face. 
The  father's  looks  softened  at  the  lovely  act,  and  bending 
affectionately,  he  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

"We  then  have  lost  nothing?"  exclaimed  Manfred, 
after  looking  again  and  again  on  his  family. 

"  We  have  lost  Benincasa,"  replied  Yole,  with  a  soft 
voice. 

"  In  truth,  my  daughter,  you  have  spoken  a  wise  word." 

"  Certainly,"  added  the  knight,  entering  into  the  con- 
versation ;  "  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  it  would  have  been 
better  for  all  of  us  if  the  grand  chancellor  had  lived  ;  yet 
he  deserves  not  so  much  compassion.  If  he  has  lost  his 
life,  he  has  acquired  fame,  which  in  substance  is  the  life 
of  the  brave,  for  they  live  for  it ;  and  if  to  obtain  it  they 
die,  their  death  should  be  esteemed  fortunate  and  happy. 
Perhaps  the  perverse  world,  accustomed  more  to  remem- 
ber deeds  that  sadden  it,  rather  than  those  that  honor  it, 
will  not  preserve  the  fame  of  this  valorous  knight  except 
among  a  few ;  but  those  few  will  be  those  who  do  .not 
measure  virtue  by  success,  and  in  whatever  part  of  the 
world,  in  whatever  time  they  meet  the  fame  of  a  brave 
man,  they  will  hail  it  as  a  saint,  and  will  raise  an  altar  to 
it  in  their  hearts.  The  others,  whose  existence  is  only 


378  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

shown  by  the  appetite  for  food,  are  not  of  any  account. 
I  have  always  begged  God  in  my  prayers  for  two  things — 
to  deliver  me  from  the  praises  of  the  imbecile,  and  from 
the  contempt  of  the  brave." 

"Well   said,"  said   Manfred  approvingly;  "so  it   is. 
Rarely  does  one  meet  a  brave  man  joined  to  a  wicked 
mind.     Knight,  in  courtesy,  I  beg  a  favor  of  you." 
"  You  have  only  to  command,  monseigneur  ;  speak." 
"1  beg  of  you  to  reveal  to  me  who  you  are." 
"You  do  me  an  honor,  monseigneur,  to  interest  your- 
self in  a  person  of  small  condition,  such  as  I  am  !    How- 
ever, my  face  is  not  one  that  loves  to  be  concealed,  nor 
my  brow  one  that  would  turn  pale  at  the  sight  of  the 
brave.     Behold,  look  me  in  the  face  ;  be  it  good  or  bad, 
it  is  what  nature  has  given  me." 

He  raised  his  visor,  and  the  king  saw  one  of  those 
heads  which  the  heavens  granted  to  the  Italians,  when 
with  the  head  they  used  to  grant  also  the  faculty  of  blush- 
ing ;  yet  he  did  not  remember  ever  having  seen  it,  and 
he  was  about  asking  his  name,  when  the  knight  added  : 
"  You  do  not  know  me  by  sight,  nor  do  I  know  you, 
although  I  have  always  been  an  admirer  of  your  valor  and 
virtue.  You  see  in  me,  monseigneur,  a  citizen,  who 
banished  from  his  city,  carries  its  arms  for  a  crest"  (and 
he  pointed  to  the  wolf),*  "  in  order  that  it  may  see  the 
deeds  performed  by  the  son  it  has  expelled,  and  grieve  that 
these  are  not  done  in  its  behalf  or  in  its  renown.  You  see 
in  me  a  man  who,  persecuted  by  men,  avenges  himself  by 
pitying  them,  and  rendering  them  good  for  evil.  In  fine, 
I  am  Ghino  di  Tacco  da  Torrita  .  .  ." 

"You  Sir  Ghino!"  repeated  the  king  with  surprise; 
and  all  the  Apulians  that  were  there  pressed  around  to 
look  upon  that  man  who  had  raised  himself  to  such  a 
fame  as  to  compete  with  the  most  illustrious  captains  of 
armies.  Ghino  stood  immovable  in  a  warrior-like  pose, 
not  with  ostentatious  artificial  stiffness,  but  a  pose  ac- 
quired by  his  body  through  long  habit.  Manfred,  after 
looking  at  him  long,  added,  moved  :  "  O  noble  blood, 

*  The  arms  of  the  city  of  Siena. 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  379 

how  low  reduced  !  Great  soul,  to  what  state  reduced  ! 
how  have  you  borne  life  ?  how  have  you  saved  it  from 
death  ?  from  infamy  ?  " 

"  O  my  king,  I  have  overrun  this  land,  that  hides  her 
present  shame  with  the  ancient  glories,  and  found  it  full 
of  crimes ;  my  arm  has  protected  innocence,  and  peo- 
ple have  blessed  me  ; — and  since  eternal  is  the  war  that 
injustice  wages  against  innocence,  I  have  rested  but  few 
moments." 

"And  in  those  moments?" 

Ghino  lowered  his  looks,  and  hesitatingly  added  : 

"  People  say  that  the  ancient  division  of  things  must 
return  ; — man  has  a  right  to  existence.  I  have  asked  bread, 
and  have  taken  it  from  those  who  have  denied  it  to  me." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  come  to  our  court  ?  Where  is 
the  knight  who  has  not  found  a  protection  against  the 
scourge  of  fortune-under  the  wings  of  the  eagle  of  Manfred  ? 
Feared  you  that  we  should  have  shown  ourselves  less 
courteous  to  you  than  to  others  !  Ghino,  you  have 
wronged  us." 

"  No,  monseigneur,  never  have  I  doubted  your  cour- 
tesy. I  doubted  rather  that  it  would  have  been  a  presump- 
tion in  me  to  claim  it.  The  reputation  of  Ghino  is  very 
contradictory.  Those  who  have  brought  me  to  this  state, 
in  order  to  justify  their  crime  before  the  world,  and  perhaps 
to  subdue  the  cry  of  their  own  conscience,  proclaim  with 
loud  outcries  that  I  am  a  fugitive  from  the  gallows,  a 
dangerous  robber  ; — indeed,  the  innocent  saved  from  the 
cruelty  of  the  oppressor,  the  women  protected,  the  castle 
secured  from  the  avarice  of  the  powerful  neighbor,  do  not 
say  so.  Nevertheless,  evil  howls  louder  than  good,  and 
my  present  condition  speaks  against  me.  Would  it  have 
been  generous  in  me  to  invoke  your  light  in  order  to  illu- 
minate the  darkness  that  human  perverseness  had  drawn 
over  my  head  ?  In  the  meanwhile  I  strove  to  do  noble 
works,  and  often  my  lips  would  say  :  men  will  in  the  end 
cease  •  to  be  unjust,  though  my  spirit  did  not  hope  for 
it  ;  and  when  they  will  restore  to  me  the  good  name 
which  they  have  stolen  from  me,  then,  I  thought,  I  will 
repair  to  the  court  of  Manfred.  It  was  'perhaps  pride,  it 


380  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

was  perhaps  veneration  for  your  Serene  Highness  ; — at 
any  rate  I  believe  then,  and  believe  still,  that  not  every 
Ghibelline  is  of  service  to  the  son  of  Frederick." 

"  You  are  right,  noble  baron,  in  your  opinion  that  not 
every  man  that  hates  Rome  is  worthy  to  love  Manfred  ; 
yet  you  were  mistaken  when  you  thought  that  we  had 
not  the  heart  and  the  mind  to  distinguish  you  among  the 
thousand  that  cry  'our  party!  our  party  !'  to  be  above 
the  law.*  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  desired  to 
know  you  personally,  and  now  we  thank  fortune  that  be- 
fore ending  our  days  it  has  reserved  us  this  pleasure." 

"  Noble  king,  fame  has  related  wonders  of  your 
knightly  courtesy,  but  the  reality  far  surpasses  the  report 
of  it." 

"  And  if  Heaven  grants  that  this  may  not  be  the  last  of 
the  Swabian  kingdom  of  Apulia,  you  will  never  depart 
from  our  side.  We  will  appoint  you  Condottiero  of  some  of 
our  troops,  and  give  you  an  honorable  and  safe  residence 
in  our  kingdom.  Our  court  had  the  reputation  through 
Christendom  of  being  the  first  in  the  glory  of  its  trouba- 
dours ;  now,  with  GhinodiTacco,  it  will  acquire  also  that 
of  being  the  first  in  the  glory  of  arms.  If  misfortune  has 
realized  so  much  for  us,  we  shall  never  again  beg  for  for- 
tune. And  now  that  we  think  of  it,  this  same  night  we 
noticed  among  your  people,  Sir  Ghino,  a  knight  who  has 
rendered  us  valuable  services,  who  killed  a  traitor  at 
Benevento — yes,  certainly  it  was  he.  Yole,  where  is  the 
knight  who  carried  you  on  his  horse  ?  " 

Yole  bent  her  face,  perhaps  to  hide  its  blushes,  and  re- 
plied :  "  He  is  gone." 

"  If  the  knight  desires  to  remain  unknown,  it  would 
be  discourtesy  in  us  to  insist  upon  knowing  him,  never- 
theless, let  him  have  our  thanks,  and  we  beg  you,  Sir 
Ghino,  to  convey  them  to  him  ;  and  tell  him  also  that,  if 
reward  of  honors  and  estates  can  in  part  compensate  the 

*  Alluding  to  the  great  number  of  Condottieri,  soldiers  of  fortune 
and  feudal  barons,  who  in  those  disordered  times  pretended  to  follow 
the  Ghibelline  or  Guelph  party,  but  in  reality  acting  for  their  private 
interests,  and  tyrannizing  both  in  the  cities  and  territories  where 
they  had  their  estates. 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  381 

great  debt  we  owe  him,  the  desire  of  Manfred  will  be  to 
show  himself  grateful." 

They  would  have  kept  talking  till  morning,  so  charmed 
were  each  of  the  other,  if  at  that  moment  the  queen,  lean- 
ing heavily  on  Manfred's  arm,  had  not  reminded  him  that 
they  had  dismounted  there  to  rest ;  hence  he  took  off 
his  mantle,  and  spreading  it  on  the  ground  near  the  fire, 
pointed  it  out  with  a  sad  smile  to  Queen  Elena,  saying : 
"  Lie  here,  my  queen  ;  oh  !  the  day  when  you  came  a 
bride  to  my  royal  bed,  you  would  not  have  thought,  un- 
nappy  one,  that  you  would  have  to  pass  a  night  of  pain 
upon  the  bare  ground.  Who  would  have  told  you  ?  It 
seemed  then  that  your  life  would  have  been  a  serene  sky  ; 
and  if  among  so  many  happy  thoughts  there  flashed  the 
image  of  the  last  solemn  hour,  certainly  you  must  have 
imagined  it  as  brilliant  as  the  setting  sun  in  a  summer 
day." 

"  My  sweet  husband,  joy  and  sorrow  comes  from  the 
Lord  ;  blessed  be  He  in  His  holy  will  .  .  ." 

"  Suffering  is  the  virtue  of  the  beast  of  burden  ;  yet  it 
would  have  been  a  blessing  to  have  granted  me  either 
fewer  sorrows,  or  more  patience  to  bear  them  :  but  you, 
my  queen,  teach  me  how  you  are  able  to  suffer,  without 
protesting  ?  " 

"  Bear  in  mind  that  Divine  dispensation  is  just ;  it  is 
merciful  if  it  makes  you  happy,  vastly  more  merciful 
if  it  makes  you  to  sutfer ;  the  sufferings  that  you  will  have 
endured  will  be  so  much  on  the  way  to  paradise,  every 
grief  a  step  bringing  you  nearer  to  the  beginning  of  all 
perfections." 

"Rest,  my  good  Elena  ;  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  too 
late  for  me  to  learn  such  doctrines.  Grief  obscures  my 
faith,  at  least  within  my  spirit.  When  the  times  become 
quieter,  I  purpose  to  call  a  learned  priest. .  .  .  Why  do  you 
smile,  Sir  Ghino  ?  Do  you  suppose  there  is  no  such  per- 
son as  a  wise  priest  ?  Our  kingdom,  now  that  the  times 
are  against  them,  numbers  over  five  thousand  priests  ; 
shall  there  not  be  one  learned  and  wise  among  five  thou- 
sand ?  Yes,  in  truth  I  will  consult  with  him,  and  discuss 
about  this  theology." 


382  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

Manfred  had  misinterpreted  the  smile  of  Sir  Ghino,  in 
order  to  hit  sarcastically  those  whom  ho  called  his  ene- 
mies. Ghino  did  not  reply,  but  taking  his  cloak  from 
his  shoulders,  folded  it  up,  and  bending  towards  where 
the  queen  was  about  to  lie,  said  : 

"  Noble  queen,  rough  is  this  cloth,  nor  suitable  to 
your  delicate  limbs  ;  nevertheless  if  you  deign  to  rest 
upon  it,  I  assure  you  by  the  faith  in  Christ  that  it  belongs 
to  an  honorable  knight." 

"Many  thanks,  knight,"  added  Elena,  with  delicate 
grace  ;  "no  one  in  the  world  would  deny  that,  resting  on 
the  mantle  of  Manfred,  and  on  that  of  noble  Ghino,  1  had 
not  lain  in  the  bed  of  chivalry.  Nevertheless  I  beg  you  to 
keep  it ;  the  night  bites  shrewdly,  the  air  is  very  cold, 
and  you  may  have  need  of  it." 

"  Oh  !  indeed,"  answered  Ghino,  shaking  his  head,  "it 
will  not  be  the  first  time  that  I  have  learned  to  do  with- 
out it.  O,  my  noble  lady,  since  I  knew  that  my  enemies 
had  burned  the  castle  of  my  fathers,  I  have  had  no  other 
bed  but  the  earth,  and  often  no  other  covering  but  the 
sky ;  the  sky  would  be  cloudy,  and  the  thunderbolt  often 
broke  my  sleep,  and  I,  starting,  have  seen  its  last  flash 
lightening  through  the  clouds  ;  and  my  face  was  glazed 
with  frost,  my  hair  hung  with  icicles,  and  terror  pressed 
my  brain,  for  vengeance  was  far  from  me.  Now  the  sky 
is  bright,  the  vengeance  accomplished,  the  fire  near,  so  if 
you  have  no  other  reason  for  refusing  it,  behold,.  I  have 
spread  it  for  you."  •  . 

So  saying  he  laid  it  on  the  ground,  and  then,  cour- 
teously saluting  the  royal  family,  retired,  saying  :  "  May 
you  rest  in  a  better  bed  to-morrow  !  " 

"  We  hope  so ! "  replied  Manfred,  and  the  queen, 
"  God's  will  be  done." 

Ghino,  retiring  to  some  distance  from  the  royal  family, 
unloosened  his  helmet,  and  hung  it  to  a  branch  of  a  pine  ; 
he  leaned  his  spear  against  the  trunk,  then  lay  on  the 
ground ;  his  bare  head  rested  on  his  shield,  his  sword  be- 
tween his  legs,  then  leaning  his  cheek  on  his  right  hand, 
in  a  few  moments  he  was  asleep.  So  did  they  all ;  only 
Manfred,  who  lay  across  the  borders  of  the  mantles 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  383 

where  his  family  slept,  with  his  face  turned  towards  the 
fire,  his  hand  supporting  his  head,  remained  watching  the 
different  aspects  of  a  burning  log.  It  appeared  first 
sparkling  with  a  beautiful  golden  light ;  by  degrees 
exhausting  the  moisture,  it  turned  red  ;  later,  the  need  of 
it  increasing,  blue  and  green  ;  of  a  sudden,  it  reappeared 
radiant  with  gold,  because  all  things  before  their  extinc- 
tion revive  in  a  spark  of  life  ;  finally  it  went  out ;  then 
there  arose  from  it  a  dense  smoke  at  first,  then  less  thick, 
later  of  an  ashy  color,  then  pale  white ;  finally  it  also 
vanished  ; — only  a  sad  handful  of  ashes  had  remained  of 
that  brilliant  object,  delight  of  the  eyes.  Why  did  Man- 
fred watch  intently  a  circumstance  that"  passes  unob- 
served a  hundred  times  in  our  life  ?  Oh  !  misfortune  is 
an  acute  observer ! — and  the  reason  why,  he  whispered 
in  the  following  words  :  "  It  is  gone — even  fame  is  a 
Smoke  ;  eternity  and  oblivion  swallow  virtues  and  crimes  ; 
but  at  least,  from  that  log  there  remained  the  ashes ; 
what  remains  of  us?" — Sleep  weighed  on  his  eyelids. 
At  first,  now  he  closed  them,  now  he  strove  to  reopen 
them,  as  if  anxious  to  contend  against  its  power.  But 
who  can  fight  against  it?  Manfred  succumbed,  as  a  man 
deprived  of  his  senses,  dropping  like  a  corpse. 

Who  is  the  bold  one  that  dares  to  come  near  the  sleep- 
ing royal  family  ?  Is  it  hate  or  love  that  guides  his  steps? 
Cautiously,  noiselessly,  a  knight  approaches  them,  points 
the  butt  of  his  spear  on  the  ground,  leans  heavily  upon 
it,  and  stands  gazing. — Oh  !  beautifully  beams  the  face 
of  beauty,  when  the  happy  dream  caresses  it  with  the 
tips  of  the  feathers  of  its  wings ;  beautifully,  when  hope 
hovers  around  it  as  a  perfumed  atmosphere  ;  beautifully, 
when  its  lips  tremble  with  the  trepidation  of  joy  ; — in  that 
moment,  poets  fancy  its  hair  blown  by  the  breath  of  the 
Graces,  in  under  that,  at  each  undulation,  they  may  appear 
in  a  new  and  more  bewitching  fprm  ;  and  imagine  invisi- 
ble sylphs  floating  through  the  air,  singing  secret  har- 
monies, which  human  ears  cannot  distinguish,  but  that, 
sweetly  penetrating  into  the  soul,  charm  it  with  ineffable 
delight.  Other  and  more  lovely  fancies  they  imagine  ; 
yet  there  is  no  poetry  that  can  describe  the  emotions  that 


384  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

the  sleeping  beauty  arouses.  When  in  the  silent  mid- 
summer night,  the  firmament,  serene  as  the  innocent  soul, 
shrouds  the  earth  with  its  pure  and  transparent  azure  as 
with  a  canopy  of  glory,  and  myriads  of  celestial  bodies 
exalt  in  the  joy  of  their  light  the  magnificence  of  the 
creator,  then  only,  the  inspired  poet  might  find  an  image 
worthy  to  compare  with  the  face  of  the  sleeping  maiden 
beauty :  which  of  these  two  spectacles  contains  more 
charms,  he  neither  knows  nor  can  tell  to  himself;  they 
are  both  divine  works,  both  emanations  of  the  loving 
thought  of  God ;  our  soul  can  only  silently,  adoringly, 
rejoice  in  the  ecstasy  of  its  sensations. 

Either  Vole's  mind  could  not  withstand,  unused  as  it 
was  to  it,  even  a  dream  of  happiness,  or  that  it  really 
was  too  intense  for  her  to  bear ;  she  suddenly  awoke,  pro- 
nouncing the  word  "Rogiero." 

Rogiero,  leaning  on  his  lance,  stood  before  her.  She 
started,  and  rushing  to  him  said  smilingly  :  "  Why  did  you 
fly  from  us  ?  The  king  has  asked  for  the  saviour  of  his 
daughter." 

"  Oh  !  if  he  knew  that  I  was  he  who  went  as  far  as  the 
banks  of  the  river  Oglio  to  hasten  against  him  those  ene- 
mies that  now  invest  his  kingdom,  if  he  knew  that  I  am 
a  condemned  man,  certainly  he  would  not  have  asked  for 
me." 

"  You  did  so  being  deceived,  nor  would  your  worst 
enemy  consider  you  unworthy  of  pity,  and  pardon  :  but 
you  spontaneously  fought  for  his  honor  at  Benevento  ; 
you,  risking  your  life,  warned  him  against  his  traitors  ;  you 
saved  him  and  his  family  at  San  Germane.  The  heart  of 
the  king  is  magnanimous." 

"To  what  purpose  discover  myself?  I  expect  no  re- 
wards of  money  or  possessions.  The  reward  which  I  de- 
sire, the  son  of  Frederick  will  never  grant  to  me  ;  let  me 
then  die  unknown.'1 

"Ah,  you  will  not  die  !" 

"  Why  should  I  live  ?  Who  would  not  prefer  an  honor- 
able death  to  a  life  of  misery  ?  Have  I  not  borne  exist- 
ence long  enough  ?  I  will  not  renew  my  ancient  com- 
plaints, but  I  swear  to  you  by  the  love  I  bear  you,  that 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  385 

on  the  field  of  Benevento  I  will  use  all  efforts  to  die  as  a 
soldier." 

"  And  if  you  should  die,  think  you  that  I  would  con- 
sent to  remain  alone  in  this  desert  of  grief?" 

"  Have  I  asked  you  to  do  so  ?  No,  Yole,  no  ;  Hea- 
ven has  destined  us  to  premature  end.  ...  I  abhor  the 
nonsense  of  soothsayers,  yet  they  foresaw  this  end  for 
me.  .  .  .  Die  then,  unhappy  maiden,  for  death  alone  can 
give  you  rest ;  .  .  and  if  you  promise,  that  in  the  hour  when 
your  sad  parents  surround  your  dying  bed,  and  would  easily 
consent  to  any  request  of  yours,  if  you  promise  to  ask 
them,  in  token  of  their  love,  to  allow  you  to  be  buried 
in  my  tomb,  near  my  bones.  .  .  .  Oh  !  too  sad  a  request 
is  this  which  I  ask  of  you,  Yole,  yet  the  only  one  that  I 
hope  to  assuage  the  bitterness  of  my  last  days." 

"  I  have  thought  of  this." 

"  The  same  angel,  then,  guards  our  souls,  and  inspires 
the  same  thoughts.  .  .  Then,  when  opening  the  tomb, 
where  the  pity  of  my  brothers-in-arms  shall  have  placed 
me,  they  will  lower  you  down  to  sleep  at  my  side ;  cer- 
tainly my  arms  will  stretch  towards  you.  It  will  be  the 
cold  embrace  of  death,  but  it  will  last  through  eter- 
nity .  .  ." 

"Through  eternity  !  And  tell  me,  will  I  feel  it? — will 
you  feel  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  asked  the  sepulchres,  and  they  have  only  re- 
plied by  silence  and  darkness." 

"  And  the  second  life  ? — The  desired  .  .  ." 

"Hope. — Divine  justice  must  have  punished  the  as- 
sassins who  murdered  my  mother ;  .  .  .  and  hence  I  sin- 
cerely believe  in  a  reward  for  those  who  suffer  .  .  ." 

"  Your  mother  murdered  !  Oh  !  you  never  spoke  to 
me  of  your  mother,  speak  .  .  .  speak  to  me  of  your 
mother  .  .  ." 

"Did  I  speak  of  my  mother?  Hush!  .  .  .  Say  no 
more ;  .  .  .  we  may  yet  live ;  .  .  .  then  1  will  tell  you  all 
about  her.  .  .  .  Who  knows  but  at  this  moment  she  prays 
for  our  peace,  looks  at  us  from  above,  perhaps  weeps  for 
us,  if  the  immortals  weep  !  .  .  .  you  will  know  her  in 
heaven.  .  .  .  Now  add  not  another  word ;  ...  it  would 
17 


386  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

sadden  you  if  I  should  relate  that  mystery  of  crime  and 
pe'rfidy.  I  almost  despise  myself  for  having,  ah  !  too 
bitterly,  known  it." 

"  I  will  be  silent,  I  will  rejoice  even,  if  you  wish  me 
to,  in  the  secret  desire  of  meeting  her  in  the  abode  of  the 
just.  I  have  often  listened  to  the  rewards  to  come,  to 
the  life  without  end,  to  the  joys  that  are  never  embittered 
by  grief,  to  peaceful  thrones  above  the  clouds  and  storms, 
and  I  have  full  faith  in  the  paradise  to  come  .  .  ." 

"  Keep  it  as  a  treasure  ...  it  will  comfort  you  .  .  ." 

"  If  it  was  not  so,  I  should  despair.  Once  happy  there 
we  will  pray  for  peace  for  those  we  leave  behind — for  my 
best  of  mothers  .  .  ." 

•'  For  your  generous  father  .  . ."  And  saying  this,  Ro- 
giero  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  place  where  lay  Manfred. 
— Holy  Mary  ! — The  king  sitting,  and  supporting  him- 
self with  his  left  hand  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  the  other 
holding  his  right  knee,  with  his  face  raised,  was  listening 
to  them.  Rogiero  moved  as  if  to  fly ;  Yole  leaned 
against  a  tree. 

"Stop,  Rogiero,"  spoke  the  king;  "you  fly  in  vain; 
come  here,  give  me  your  hand  so  that  I  may  rise." 

Rogiero  obeyed.  Manfred  continued  :  "  You  love  ? 
and  it  seems  happiness  to  you?  Look,"  and  he  pointed 
out  to  him  his  royal  family,  stretched  on  the  ground, 
"  these  are  the  joys  of  love." 

"  Oh  !  if  I  only  had  them  .  .  ."  replied  Rogiero. 

"  You  might  rue  the  day  when  they  called  you  father. 
— But  it  is  useless  to  warn,  for  we  were  condemned  from 
the  beginning  to  this  painful  experience.  .  .  .  Do  you  wish 
that  I  should  utter  a  fierce  imprecation  on  your  head  ? 
.  .  .  Well,  may  you  obtain  these  joys  of  love  .  .  .  but  from 
whom  ?  You  have  raised  your  look  to  the  daughter 
of  the  king  ;  my  daughter  is  of  the  blood  of  Emperors ; 
speak,  what  is  yours,  Rogiero  ?  " 

"  Mine  ?     I  know  not." 

"  Was  no  one  present  at  your  birth  ?  Did  no  one 
nourish  you  ?  no  one  educate  you  ?  More  than  any  other 
animal,  the  infant  left  to  itself,  dies." 

"  My  mother  was  murdered  at  the  moment  she  gave 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  387 

me  birth  ;  crime  brought  me  to  the  world  before  my  time  ; 
.  .  .  the  assassin  was  my  nurse  ....  Oh  !  in  pity  sake, 
my  beloved  king,  leave  the  history  of  my  life  in  the  ob- 
scurity of  sin  ;  even  I  know  only  bloody  fragments  of  it ; 
yet  I  know  enough  of  it  to  be  able  to  swear  to  you  that 
my  descent  would  not  contaminate  the  rank  you  granted 
me  at  Benevento." 

"  And  what  was  the  name  of  your  mother  ?  " 

"  My  king,  you  shall  know  it,  when  it  will  be  a  glory 
for  me  to  recall  it." 

"  You  first  betrayed  me,  then  you  fought  against  my 
traitors ;  why  was  it  easier  for  you  to  commit  the  fault 
than  to  amend  it  ?  " 

"  I  saw  your  brother." 

"  Which  brother  ?  " 

"  Henry  the  Cripple,  and  Caserta  showed  him  to 
me  .  .  ." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  ?     Is  he  alive  ?  " 

"  He  died  in  my  arms,  broken  down  with  sufferings, 
deprived  of  intellect,  a  miserable  monument  of  persecution 
and  pity.  They  told  me  that  I  was  his  son,  and  he  also 
recognized  me  ;  they  swore  that  you  had  been  his  execu- 
tioner, and  he  also  confirmed  it.  Perhaps  for  many  years 
they  had  taught  him  to  believe  so,  and  I  ..." 

"  And  you  rushed  to  avenge  him  ;  and  you  did  well,  in 
the  desire,  not  in  the  means.  Had  you  not  a  poniard  at 
your  side  ?  Why  did  you  go  as  far  as  Cremona  to  call 
upon  the  stranger  for  your  revenge  ?" 

v<  Does  passion  ever  reason  ?  If  I  had  had  any  control 
over  my  actions,  would  they  have  been  able  to  deceive 
me  so  basely  ?  Whenever  my  mind  undertook  to  medi- 
tate upon  my  misfortunes,  a  voice  that  seemed  to  have 
come  from  heaven,  upbraided  me,  saying:  '•Remember 
your  father! — Oh  !  I  am  more  unfortunate  than  guilty. 
In  the  Abbey  of  St.  Victor,  in  the  Roman  Campania,  an 
ancient  vassal  of  my  family,  the  murderer  of  my  mother, 
revealed  to  me  the  fraud  .  .  ." 

"  Why  did  "they  incite  you  against  me  ?  Why  did 
they  pervert  the  heart  of  my  faithful  squire  ?  intrust  my 
ruin  to  the  arm  that  defended  me  ?  Are  there  not  traitors 


388  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

enough  on  this  earth  ?  This  is  a  wonderful  mystery,  and 
I  am  not  able  to  penetrate  it.  And  what  did  you  do 
then  ?  " 

"  I  wept  with  grief,  and  hastened  to  save  my  good  king. 
Being  arrested  at  St.  Agata  dei  Goti,  they  carried  me  to 
Benevento,  and  threw  me  into  a  prison,  where  through  a 
bolted  door  I  heard  that  they  were  conspiring  agairfst 
you.  Nevertheless  1  had  been  condemned  to  die  there  of 
starvation,  had  not  an  angel  saved  me ;  ...  it  was  your 
daughter  that  .  .  ." 

"  And  who  told  you  of  him  ?  " 

"  Many  are  the  ways  of  the  Lord,  dear  father.  A  spy 
of  Caserta,  surprised  in  the  most  private  rooms  of  your 
royal  palace,  revealed  to  me  the  crime  .  .  ." 

"  Then  I  came  to  disclose  to  you  the  conspiracy  .  .  ." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  the  names  ?  to  what  good 
all  this  mystery  ?  " 

"  My  beloved  king,  although  Rinaldo  d' Aquino  made 
me  a  criminal,  and  many  a  time  has  attempted  my  life, 
yet  he  is  related  to  me  by  blood.  Time  will  explain  this 
mystery.  1  led  that  night  your  sacred  person  to  the  place 
of  the  conspiracy,  because  I  could  think  of  nothing 
better  to  do.  I  hoped  that  my  loyalty  might  make  you 
forgive  the  perfidy  of  my  relative.  Heaven  willed  other- 
wise. Then  I  endeavored  to  spare  his  shame.  I  warned 
him  by  secret  letters  to  withdraw  from  the  guilty  path. 
Fool  !  I  thought  the  man  capable  of  repentance.  I 
challenged  to  death  Count  Cerra,  for  he  was  the  most* 
dangerous  of  the  conspirators.  Thus  I  hoped  to  frighten 
the  rest  of  them,  and  warn  you,  my  king,  of  the  danger." 

"  And  have  all  the  traitors  deserted  ?  " 

"All,  at  least  all  those  I  knew,  have  taken  refuge  with 
Caserta  in  the  castles  of  the  frontier." 

"You  have  done  the  good  of  your  own  will,  the  bad 
at  the  instigation  of  others  ;  you  have  run*many  dangers 
for  our  sake.  You  deserve  a  reward,  and  you  shall  have 
it." 

"  O  my  noble  lord,  I  desire  nothing  more  than  to  die 
for  you.  Keep  your  reward  for  others  who  make  it  the 
object  of  their  works.  I  would  desire  only  one  reward, 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  389 

and  this  I  know  to  be  too  high  for  me,  and  therefore  dare 
not  ask  it.  It  is  now  many  years  since  I  loved  Yole  with 
the  love  of  the  saints ;  it  was  for  her  that  I  conquered  at 
the  tournament  of  your  coronation,  for  her  that  1  became 
brave,  for  her  that  I  became  knightly ;  every  act,  every 
thought,  has  been  that  I  may  be  acceptable  to  her.  I 
cannot  now  tear  her  image  from  my  heart,  nor  can  she 
mine.  We  love  with  a  desperate  love,  nor  wish  to  be  united 
but  in  the  grave." 

"No,  be  it  in  life  ;  you  have  saved  her,  she  is  yours. 
Beware  of  what  you  are  doing  before  accepting  her,"  said 
Manfred,  smiling;  "beware,  it  is  a  sorry  gift  which  I 
make  to  you." 

"  VVhatever  lot  befalls  me,  it  will  ever  be  a  heaven  in 
the  arms- of  Yole." 

"  In  truth,  no  one  can  escape  his  destiny.  Give  me 
your  hand,  Rogiero,  and  you  yours,  Yole."  Thus  saying, 
Manfred  had  taken  the  hands  of  the  young  couple  in  his, 
and  drew  them  together.  The  waning  flame  shifting  con- 
tinually over  the  burnt  embers,  sent  forth  a  wavering  blue 
light,  such  as  superstition  believes  the  light  of  a  lamp  be- 
comes when  the  ghost  of  the  dead  passes  near  it.  The  tips 
of  the  fingers  already  touch  each  other;  the  hands  almost 
clasp ;  when  the  flame,  suddenly  blazing,  illuminated  the 
face  of  Rogiero.  We  have  said  it,  that  face  inspired 
sadness ;  time  had  stamped  on  the  forehead  of  that 
unhappy  one  the  few  years  that  had  passed.  It  must  have 
been  very  handsome  once,  but  now  it  was  pale,  attenuated. 
Manfred  saw,  or  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw,  in  that  face 
the  living  image  of  one  dead,  whom  he  never  recalled  to 
mind  without  a  sigh  ;  and  if  the  memory  of  her  surprised 
him  in  the  middle  of  the  gay  song,  the  notes  would  expire 
upon  his  lips,  and  the  hand  wander  unconscious  of  what 
it  was  doing.  He  violently  parted  the  two,  and  keeping 
them  distant  from  each  other  as  far  as  his  arms  could 
reach,  he  exclaimed  :  "  I  swear  to  you  by  all  the  saints 
in  Heaven,  you  can  never  be  man  and  wife  ! " 

A  cry  of  terror  broke  forth  from  the  lovers,  and  both 
eagerly  pressed  upon  him  to  ask  the  reason  why  ;  when 
they  were  disturbed  by  an  approaching  tramping  of 


390  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

horses,  and  a  great  light  coming  from  the  main  road,  that 
surrounded  the  wood." 

"  We  are  pursued  ! "  exclaimed  Manfred,  and  in  an 
attitude  of  desperate  defence,  placed  himself  in  front  of 
his  family. 

"  We  are  pursued  !  "  exclaimed  Rogiero,  and  covering 
Yole  with  his  body,  touched  Ghino,  who  was  fast  asleep, 
with  the  butt  of  his  lance.  He  started  up  at  a  jump, 
unsheathing  his  sword  in  the  act,  asking  :  "  What  is  it  ?  '' 

"Ghino?  the  enemy  .  .  ."  says  Rogiero. 

"  Where  are  they  ?  " 

"  There,  on  the  road." 

"  I  see  nothing  but  lights  there.  St.  Ambrosius  !  lights 
are  not  enemies,  they  might  even  be  friends ;  I  will  go  to 
reconnoitre."  He  detached  his  helmet  from  the  pine, 
and  fastening  it  on  his  head,  took  his  spear,  and  started 
out  of  the  wood. 

"You  will  not  go  alone,"  said  Manfred,  "I  will  go 
with  you." 

"  Welcome,  my  king." 

"Nor  will  I  remain,"  said  Rogiero;  "are  we  not 
brothers-in-arms,  Sir  Ghino  ?  " 

"  Welcome  to  you  also.  Let  us  go  with  the  aid  of  the 
saints.  Go  softly  lest  the  boy  awake  and  get  frightened," 
said  he,  passing  near  Manfredino,  and  walked  some  dis- 
tance on  tiptoe.  The  others  did  the  same  ;  and  Manfred 
repressed  even  a  sigh  that  came  from  the  depth  of  his 
heart. 

They  reached  the  last  trees  of  the  forest,  and  perceived 
a  large  squadron  of  Saracens,  who,  carrying  lighted  pine 
branches,  caused  a  light.  Looking  more  attentively, 
they  recognized  the  Emir  Jussuif,  and  Count  Giordano 
d'Angalone,  who,  mounted  on  war  horses,  advanced  slow- 
ly, without  exchanging  a  word.  Arriving  near  where 
Manfred  was  hidden,  the  Emir,  turning  to  Giordano, 
asked  :  "  My  lord  count,  observe  the  ground,  if  you  please, 
and  tell  me  whether  you  think  it  smooth  enough  for  a 
fight." 

"  Jussuff,  it  seemed  prepared  for  the  purpose  ;  never- 
theless, I  beg  you  to  wait  till  daylight." 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  391 

"  Did  [  wait  to  commit  the  crime  ?  why  should  I  wait 
to  amend  it  ?  O  good  Manfred,  where  could  your  faith- 
ful servant  rejoin  you  ?  " 

"  Let  it  be  done  as  you  will ;  certainly  death  will  not  be 
so  bitter  to  me  as  the  fact  that  by  my  fault  Manfred  has 
lost  San  Germane,  and  perhaps  even  the  kingdom." 

"  May  God  avert  it,  Count  Giordano." 

"  And  tell  me,  Emir,  know  you  whether  the  royal  family 
is  safe  ?  " 

"Yes,  you  can  die  with  this  assurance." 

"  Emir,  listen  to  me :  neither  you  nor  I  know  upon 
whose  sword  death  now  rests.  Not  to  threaten  you,  mark, 
but  might  not  you  be  the  one  killed  ?  " 

"  I  will  endeavor  not  to  be,  yet  I  might." 

"And  in  such  case  who  will  lead  this  squadron,  which 
is  almost  intact,  and  might  be  of  so  much  help  in  the 
present  strait  to  Manfred.?  If  you  desire  to  aid  him 
while  alive,  you  would  not  want  to  injure  him  if  dead." 

"  You  speak  the  words  of  the  wise,  Count  Giordano  : 
would  to  Heaven  that  you  had  always  spoken  so  !  Omar, 
Hussein,  Soraka!"  he  called,  turning  to  his  squad- 
ron. The  ones  named  came  out  of  the  ranks,  and  he 
ordered  them  :  "  By  the  faith  which  binds  you  to  me, 
your  Emir,  I  command  you  that,  should  this  knight  kill 
me,  you  will  obey  him  until  he  will  have  led  you  to  Man- 
fred, as  if  he  were  my  son.  .  .  .  Oh,  my  son  !  recommend 
him  to  Zuleika,  and  tell  her  to  be  a  good  mother  to  him, 
Soraka ;  and  tell  her  also  on  my  part  to  take  good  care 
of  Zekim,  the  dog  of  my  love,  and  divide  her  bread  with 
Borak,  the  companion  of  my  battles,  until  it  may  please 
the  Prophet  to  call  him  to  another  life...  .  .  Poor  Borak  ! " 
he  added,  patting  the  horse  on  his  neck,  "there  will  be  no 
place  for  you  in  paradise  ;  it  is  written,  seven  alone  will  be 
the  animals  that  will  enter  there  above ;  .  .  .  truly  you  are 
handsomer  than  the  ass  of  Haazy,  and  the  ox  of  Said 
Musa,  even  if  they  were  as  white  as  frost.  .  .  .  Oh,  poor 
Borak !  I  will  not  meet  you  in  paradise ;  you  are  disin- 
herited." After  caressing  him  a  while  longer,  drawing  the 
rein,  he  leaped  towards  Count  Giordano,  saying:  "Count, 
my  will  is  finished;  have  you  any  dispositions  to  make  ?" 


392  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

"  Nothing,  except  you  tell  Manfred  that  my  last  sigh, 
next  to  God,  was  to  him." 

"  Then  we  may  begin."  Each  drew  their  swords, 
and  measuring  their  distance,  rushed  precipitously  upon 
each  other. 

"  Lower  your  swords  ! — the  king  is  at  hand." 

This  cry  came  from  the  manly  breast  of  Ghino,  whilst 
the  two  knights  were  about  falling  on  each  other  ;  who, 
wondering,  turned  around,  and  saw  Manfred  hastening 
towards  them.  They  dismounted  from  their  horses,  and 
so  did  all  the  surrounding  Saracens.  Jussuff,  approaching 
Manfred,  kneeled  down  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
Orientals,  touching  the  dust  with  his  beard,  and  grieving 
with  a  pitiful  voice,  said  :  "  Oh  !  my  good  lord,  make 
me  worthy  to  be  trampled  upon  by  you  ;  my  soul  has 
fallen  so  low  that  it  envies  the  'death  of  the  venomous 
insect !  " 

On  the  other  side  Count  Giordano,  in  a  humble  atti- 
tude, took  Manfred's  hand,  and  raising  it  to  his  lips, 
kissed  it,  sighing  :  "  O  my  good  king !  " 

"  I  have  betrayed  you,"  continued  Jussuff,  "as  Iscariot 
betrayed  the  Son  of  Mary  ;  nor  let  the  punishment  be 
less  terrible." 

The  chronicle  states  that  in  other  times  Manfred  would 
have  fulfilled  his  threat  to  Jussuff  to  tear  his  heart  from  his 
breast,  but  being  in  such  straits,  he  had  to  act  not  as  he 
desired,  but  as  best  he  could.  He  placed  his  hand  upon 
the  Emir's  head,  and  spoke  thus  :  "  The  arrow,  if  not 
shot,  will  not  wound ;  the  bow,  if  not  bent,  will  not 
throw ;  indeed,  thou  wert  the  arrow,  but  the  blow  did  not 
come  from  thee.  It  is  written  in  the  book  of  the  law 
that  man  cannot  change  one  white  hair  into  black  ;  * 
indeed,  we  believe  that  he  cannot  pull  it  out,  if  destiny 
does  not  will  it.  The  influence  of  the  stars  had  decreed 
from  everlasting  time  what  has  now  been  accomplished. 
Be  .then  of  good  cheer  :  if  the  fortune  of  Manfred  can 

*  Neither  shall  thou  swear  by  thy  head,  because  thou  canst  not 
make  one  hair  white  or  black. — MATTHEW  v.  36. 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  393 

be  restored,  it  will  be  restored  ;  if  you  think  you  have 
offended  us,  we  forgive  you." 

"  Most  generous  king  !  May  the  Great  God  grant  that 
the  flag  of  your  enemies  compose  the  tent  that  will  shelter 
you  from  the  summer's  sun ; — may  the  souls  of  the 
prophets  exalt  you  over  the  head  of  Charles  ! " 

"  We  hope  so,  ...  but  from  our  sword." 

"  Yes,  hope  it,  for  every  good  work  will  receive  its  re- 
ward, even  on  earth,  and  many  such  rewards  are  due  you. 
Now  go,  let  me  finish  my  duel,  and  then  I  will  place  my- 
self at  your  side,  nevermore  to  leave  you. — My  faithful 
men,"  added  he,  turning  to  his  Saracens,  "  should  I  die, 
every  enemy  that  you  kill  in  the  king's  defence  will  be  the 
best  funeral  rites  that  you  could  offer  to  my  spirit.  Now 
then,  Angalone  ;  "  and  he  raised  his  scimitar. 

"  Stop,  Emir,  thou  art  doing  wrong  to  the  person  of 
thy  king  !  "  exclaimed  Manfred,  interposing. 

"  Oh  !  stand  back,  by  the  head  of  your  father,  Man- 
fred ;  let  me  not  curse  the  moment  that  I  have  seen  the 
face  of  my  Melek" 

"Let  him  doit,  my  king,"  begged  d'Angalone;  "he 
thirsts  for  my  blood." 

"  Not  for  your  blood,  count,  but  for  my  fame  ! — Jus- 
suff,  thou  hast  lost  for  us  a  splendidly  fortified  town,  now 
thou  wouldst  lose  us  our  friend*  Know  that,  without 
chiding  thee  with  the  least  reproach,  we  would  willingly 
lose  three,  ten  cities,  our  kingdom,  but  not  the  friend  of 
our  youth." 

"  Nor  was  I  the  less  a  friend  to  you  than  Giordano  : 
you  wish  that  infamy  should  cover  me  ;  it  will  cover  my 
grave,  not  my  life."  And,  deeply  affected,  he  drew  a 
poniard,  and  raising  his  arm  as  high  as  he  could,  was 
about  stabbing  himself  in  the  breast.  D'Angalone,  who 
stood  near  him,  prevented  him,  crying  to  him  :  "  May  the 
prophet  guard  you,  you  are  committing  a  sin  !  " 
'  "  Teach  me,  then,  the  way  not  to  commit  it  ! " 

"We  will  teach  it  to  you,"  said  Manfred  ;  "  once  be- 
fore we  begged  you  to  postpone  this  duel ;  to  postpone 
does  not  mean  to  abandon  it ;  and  you  can  always  resume 
17* 


394  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

your  quarrel,  when  we  shall  have  dispersed  the  enemy 
that  stands  before  us." 

"  Willingly  would  I  do  it,  to  please  my  king  ;  but  I 
know  no  example  of  this  in  the  histories  taught  me  by  my 
fathers." 

"  Indeed,  there  must  be  hundreds  of  such  examples  ! 
Mollak,"  called  Manfred,  "is  it  not  true  that  in  your 
histories  there  occur  examples  of  emirs  and  rajahs  that 
have  postponed  duels  at  the  desire  of  their  sovereigns  ?" 

The  mollaks  were  in  the  camps  of  the  Saracens  what 
are  in  ours  the  military  chaplains,  only  that  they  possessed 
higher  attributes — such  as  being  consulted  in  worldly 
affairs,  sitting  the  next  after  the  emirs  in  their  councils  of 
war,  being  reputed  wise  and  learned,  and  many  others  not 
worthy  of  enumerating.  The  mollak  called  seemed  a 
man  verging  on  his  sixtieth  year ;  venerable  for  his 
snow-white  beard,  with  a  red  face,  very  small  black  eyes, 
sparkling  like  two  berries ;  he  smiled  often,  but  that 
smile  was  imperceptible,  except  by  the  trembling  of  the 
hair  of  his  upper  lip,  and  as  such  motion  could  also  be 
caused  by  the  slightest  blowing  of  the  wind,  he  could  thus 
laugh  in  people's  faces  without  their  ever  suspecting  it : 
for  the  rest,  shrewd  as  a  pedler,  sharp  as  a  Jew  in  his 
purchases,  hypocrite  a  little  less  than  the  politicians  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  And  yet  the  Saracens  reputed  him 
a  holy  man  ;  and  if  he  had  told  them  that  his  mule  dis- 
cussed theology  with  him,  they  would  have  believed  him  ; 
if  he  had  affirmed  that  he  was  one  of  the  seven  sleepers 
who  slept  seven  thousand  years,  seven  days,  seven  hours 
and  a  quarter,  they  would  have  believed  him  ;  if  he  had 
threatened  them  that  he  would  snatch  the  sun  from  the 
firmament,  they  would  all  have  kneeled  at  his  feet,  beg- 
ging him  not  to  do  it,  for  fear  that  they  should  all  be 
reduced  to  ashes. — Poor  infidels  !  God  knows  how 
many  such  saints  they  worship  in  their  mosques. — Hear- 
ing the  summons,  he  approached,  folded  his  arms  on  his 
breast,  bowed  reverentially,  and  said,  "  The  God  of  mercy 
vouchsafe  wisdom  to  those  who  believe  and  do  the  things  that 
be  right ;  may  He  illumine  the  steps  of  your  glory,  Emir, 
for  many  are  in  the  histories  the  examples  that  you  desire." 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  395 

"  I  have  never  known  them." 

"  That  is  because  you  have  never  studied  them.  The 
histories  of  old  narrate  that  when  Roger  the  Norman 
took  away  our  dominion  of  Sicily,  one  Robert  Sorlone, 
his  relative,  was  advancing  with  a  troop  of  knights,  even 
into  the  county  of  Geranii.  There  governed  at  that  time 
the  praised  in  the  faith  of  the  Prophet,  Said  Sheik-Ali, 
father  of  the  beautiful  Zuleima.  Zuleima  was  the  love 
of  Ibrahim  and  Rhedi,  chief  youths  in  their  tribe,  of  the 
same  age,  of  the  same  strength  and  bravery  They  both 
made  their  harmonious  harps  resound  through  the  stillness 
of  the  night,  they  both  sang  under  the  window-blinds  of  the 
fair  Zuleima,  and  called  her  their  crown  of  life,  pupil  of 
their  eyes,  and  compared  themselves  to  the  nightingale 
enamored  of  the  rose  of  the  valley,  and  begged  the  lovely 
maiden  that  she  would  at  least  look  compassionately  on  the 
last  sigh  that  they  intended  to  exhale  under  her  balcony. 
The  night  that  preceded  the  battle,  a  pansy  flower,  which 
more  than  any  other  resembles  the  heart,  fell  from  it. 
Each  youth  wanted  it  for  himself;  they  fought  for  it, 
and  if  people  had  not  arrived,  they  would  have  torn  each 
other  with  their  teeth.  Ibrahim  broke  his  harp  over  the 
head  of  Rhedi ;  they  agreed  therefore  to  settle  with  the 
sword  who  should  possess  the  maiden.  Said  Sheik-Ali 
ordered  them  into  his  house,  and  called  his  daughter. 
There  entered  the  beauty  with  the  gazelle  eye,  the 
deer's  foot,  pink  as  the  pomegranate.  All  looks,  all 
thoughts,  turned  to  her.  They  all  trembled  with  pleasure 
at  the  sight  of  the  mortal  houri.  '  This  maiden,'  said  the 
Sheik,  pointing  to  her, '  will  never  belong  to  him  who  kills 
my  friend  :  the  husband  of  my  daughter  will  be  only  he 
who  in  the  next  battle  will  kill  my  enemy  ! '  And  Zuleima 
disappeared,  and  with  her  the  light  of  the  youths'  eyes. — 
Near  the  rock  which  is  now  called  from. Sorlone,  the  next 
dawn  saw  two  knights  hidden.  The  Normans  advanced, 
preceded  by  Robert  in  splendid  armor,  adorned  with 
gold  and  red  feathers ;  the  two  hidden  knights  rushed 
upon  him.  The  blood  of  Sorlone  has  given  the  name  to 
that  rock." 

"  Which  of  the  two  killed  him — Ibrahim  or  Rhedi  ?  " 


396  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

asked  at  the  same  time  Jussuff  and  Ghino,  who  were 
listening  attentively. 

"  Both  wounded  him.  Rhedi  remained  dead  on  the 
field.  Ibrahim,  though  all  bleeding  from  many  wounds, 
cut  off  the  head  of  Robert,  and  without  even  waiting  to 
bind  up  his  wounds,  ran  to  lay  it  at  the  feet  of  Zuleima. 
Here  he  fell,  and  his  soul  ascended  to  the  dwelling  of  his 
fathers.  By  decision  of  the  wise  in  war,  Ibrahim  was 
declared  the  victor." 

"  And  they  did  an  injustice  !"  exclaimed  Ghino  ;  "  for 
they  showed  equal  courage  and  equal  prowess  ;  an  inch 
of  iron  that  penetrates  more  or  less  should  not  distinguish 
the  brave." 

"  You  have  spoken  the  words  of  the  wise,"  said  Jussuff, 
looking  Ghino  in  the  face,  smilingly.  "  I  agree  with 
you  .  .  ." 

"  And  I  would  speak  many  others  of  them,  if  you  were 
willing  to  listen.  If  you  are  the  noble  knight  you  say 
and  for  which  I  hold  you,  you  ought  to  remit  your  quarrel 
to  King  Manfred  ;  you  should  prefer  the  good  of  all  to 
your  own.  What  do  you  suppose  a  malefactor  is  ? — a 
man  who  seeks  his  own  good  by  injuring  others.  .  .  .  Be- 
sides, you  sacrifice  nothing  in  postponing  the  meeting  ; 
your  mollak  affirms  it.  I  also,  who  have  often  attended 
duels  everywhere  in  Italy,  swear  it  to  you." 

"  Do  you  swear  it,  noble  knight  ?" 

"By  my  faith,"  replied  Ghino,  touching  his  forehead. 
"  I  would  not  wish  you  dishonored,  even  if  your  infamy 
would  be  my  glory." 

"I  believe  you;  your  face  seems  that  of  a  wise  knight," 
said  the  Emir,  and  with  the  point  of  his  poniard  he 
pricked  the  skin  of  his  left  hand,  and  spilled  on  the  ground 
a  few  drops  of  blood.  "  Preserve,  O  earth,"  he  implored, 
"  this  blood  of  mine,  with  my  shame  ;  if  one  day  I  shall 
come  to  ask  it  of  thee,  paying  in  exchange  the  blood 
of  my  offender,  then  restore  it  to  me  pure  and  incon- 
taminate.  But  if  I  should  die  without  ransoming  it, 
then  sprinkle  it  over  my  temples,  and  let  it  be  a  witness 
against  me  in  the  day  of  judgment.  Count  Giordano 


The  Sorrowful  Night.  397 

d'Angalone,  you  are  safe  from    me   and   mine,  we  are 
friends  as  long  as  the  king  has  enemies." 

"  Be  it  as  you  will,  Jussuff." 

"  Now  let  us  go  to  relieve  our  family,"  commanded 
Manfred,  "  who  must  still  be  anxious  about  us." 

The  order  was  obeyed,  and  there  was  no  more  sleep 
for  that  night.  They  rekindled  the  fires,  and  sat  narrat- 
ing the  events  of  the  day.  Manfred  sat  between  Jussuff 
and  d'Angalone.  The  queen  welcomed  them,  Yole 
smiled  sweetly  on  them,  and  they  were  appeased. 

The  Emir  being  asked  how  he  happened  to  be  with 
Count  Giordano,  replied  :  "  Know,  then,  that  after  the 
call  of  the  king,  who  passed  under  my  quarters,  I  threw 
myself  on  the  ground,  to  weep  over  the  past  and  present 
misfortune,  when  I  heard  a  murmur  that  seemed  to  arise 
from  the  pavement,  and  whisper  in  my  ears  :  The 
Provengals  are  burning  the  palace  of  the  king ;  there  is 
imprisoned  your  insulter ;  if  he  should  die,  who  can  heal 
your  dishonor?  have  you  forgotten  that  the  remedy  is  in 
the  hands  of  him  who  struck  you  ?  I  rose  at  once,  and 
thought  that  if  I  could  not  fight,  my  troops  could.  I 
ordered  them  to  arm  themselves,  and  led  them  to  the 
palace.  I  know  not  what  was  the  matter  with  the  Pro- 
vengals ;  they  stood  still,  as  if  they  feared  to  advance 
further.  We  rushed  upon  them,  dispersed  them,  entered 
the  prisons,  and  took  out  Count  Giordano.  I  told  him 
the  reason  why  I  had  hastened  to  save  him,  he  replied  to 
me,  weeping,  '  Since  Manfred  had  fled  on  account  of 
the  perfidy  of  his  own  captains,  he  would  not  live  to  bear 
his  reproaches ;  he  hated  life.'  I  replied  to  him  he  was 
right  indeed,  but  I  had  not  been  able  to  prevent  the 
deed  ;  I  could  only  avenge  it,  and  had  already  done  so. 
That  the  heads  of  the  rajahs  who  commanded  the  troops 
that  garrisoned  the  turrets  and  battlements  of  the  gate 
Rapido  had  been  buried  in  a  separate  ground  from  their 
bodies.  I  gave  him  a  horse  and  arms,  and  we  left.  The 
Provencals  already  occupied  the  palace." 

"  And  did  they  burn  it  ?  "  asked  Manfred. 

"  No,  they  spared  it  in  order  that  Charles  might  sleep 
there." 


398  The  Sorrowful  Night. 

"  O  Charles !  you  already  enjoy  the  satisfaction  of 
resting  your  limbs  in  the  bed  of  the  conquered  ;  enjoy  it ; 
but  I  call  the  world  to  witness  whether  this  has  happened 
through  the  cowardice  of  the  son  of  Frederick  !  " 

"  Now  that  Charles  has  placed  his  foot  within  the  king- 
dom, something  must  be  given  to  him." 

"  What  is  that  you  say,  Emir  ?  Have  your  lips  uttered 
those  words  ?  " 

"  Yes,  certainly  :  is  he  not  a  Christian  ?  Would  you  not 
allow  him  the  ground  to  be  buried  in  ? '' 

"Would  that  I  had  only  that  to  allow  him  ; — go  on 
with  the  story." 

"  It  is  ended,  my  king.  We  tried  our  fortune  once 
more :  but  the  enemy  stood  on  their  guard  ;  we  killed 
many,  many  also  of  ours  remained  on  the  field  :  twice,  while 
I  was  running  without  sword  through  the  fight,  encouraging 
my  Saracens,  d'Angalone  covered  me  with  his  shield,  and 
defended  me  from  the  blows  of  the  enemy.  Giordano,  I 
thanked  you  then,  and  repeat  it  now,  and  always.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  Provencals  were  surrounding  the  town,  and 
their  infantry  had  begun  to  appear  from  the  gate  of  Ab- 
bruzzo ;  we  ran  the  risk  of  being  surrounded  and  cap- 
tured. I  knew  you  were  safe,  Angalone  was  with  me  ;  I 
had  obtained  what  I  desired  :  we  closed  up  our  ranks, 
and  scattering  all  that  opposed  our  way,  we  came  out  to 
the  open  country." 

The  shadows  of  night  were  beginning  to  disperse  in 
the  east,  objects  assumed  a  distinct  form,  and  day  was 
about  to  appear.  The  trumpets  sounded  the  departure  ; 
the  king  mounted  his  horse,  his  troops  followed  him  ; 
they  crossed  the  river  Volttirno  at  a  little  distance  from 
where  they  had  passed  the  night,  and  by  way  of  Talese 
they  marched  on  to  Benevento.  Tradition  states  thaf 
Manfred,  seeing  around  him  so  many  faithful  followers, 
often  repeated  this  sentence  :  "  Even  misfortune  is  good 
for  something;  I  have  proved  these  men,  and  can  trust 
to  them  as  to  the  edge  of  my  sword. 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  399 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    BATTLE   OF    BENEVENTO. 

But  he  has  more  fear  of  a  life  of  shame  than  of  a  glorious  death, 
and  trusting  entirely  in  the  mercy  of  the  Lord,  raises  his  right  hand 
and  signs  himself  with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  then  takes  his  sword, 
and  turns  his  horse.  .  .  . — Round  Table,  chap.  28. 

* 

}ET  the  conquered  king  learn  to  die.  The  day 
destined  for  the  end  of  his  glory,  let  that  same 
day  close  the  eyes  of  his  mortal  life.  Let  him 
look  around  from  the  field  where  might  has 
prostrated  him  ;  what  hope  flatters  him  ?  There  is  not 
an  arm  that  would  rise  for  him  ;  the  tears  of  the  afflicted 
that  are  lost  in  the  hurrahs  of  victory  only  now  insistingly 
penetrate  into  his  soul.  If  between  the  degradation  of 
being  dragged  in  triumph  behind  the  chariot  of  the  con- 
queror and  death,  he  has  chosen  degradation,  those  that 
bore  his  rule  were  less  than  reptiles,  and  the  crown  fell 
upon  his  head  like  the  tile  on  the  head  of  Pyrrhus.  Is  he 
not  awed  at  the  insults  of  the  cowards  who  run  as  to  a 
feast,  to  rejoice  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  fall  ?  Is  he 
not  stung  by  the  mockery  of  the  traitors  ?  At  the  end 
of  his  meditation,  does  he  not  see  a  revenge  of  blood,  a 
justice,  upon  the  edge  of  the  enemy's  sword  ?  The  con- 
queror fears  God, — and  will  not  kill  him.  Does  it  suit  the 
man,  on  whom  hung  the  destinies  of  millions  of  his  fel- 
low-beings, to  taste  the  bitterness  of  panting  doubtfully 
for  his  own?  The  bitter  hour  is  past ;  half  eternity  will  . 
not  compensate  for  it  !  ...  he  will  live — behold  his  life  ! 
— his  thoughts  fixed  upon  a  diadem  that  will  never  adorn 
his  temples,  nor  those  of  his  children,  pining  tinder  its 
light  as  his  hope  gradually  approaches  its  setting,  like  the 
flower,  once  a  nymph,  under  the  light  of  the  star  that 
has  ceased  to  love  her ;  *  he  will  shake  the  iron  bars  of 
his  prison,  bite  them,  stain  them  with  blood,  and  fall  ex- 

*  Clytie,  changed  to  a  sunflower. 


4OO  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

hausted  of  strength  in  despair  at  his  own  impotence. 
His  thoughts  are  like  vultures  devouring  his  entrails  ;  he 
fears  every  food  ;  he  drinks  no  liquid  before  he  has 
scanned  it  across  the  light ;  he  dares  not  move  a  step 
before  he  has  tried  the  place  where  he  is  forced  to  put 
his  foot ;  his  own  shadow  frightens  him.  .  .  .  And  his  chil- 
dren ?  He  is  not  allowed  to  see  them,  nor  does  he  wish  to. 
What  to  teach  them  ?  How  to  curse  ? — The  clanking 
of  their  chains,  better  than  his  voice,  will  make  them 
•grow  up  in  hatred.  Will  he  show  them  his  misery  ?  Is 
not  that  which  they  bear  enough  ?  He  desires  neither  to 
see  nor  to  hear  a  living  soul ;  his  mind  has  become  fierce, 
his  intellect  wild  :  no  one  speaks  to  him,  and  yet  he  bends 
his  ears  to  unknown  voices  and  replies.  Often  a  remem- 
brance of  victory  inflames  his  eyes  ;  but  suddenly  lower- 
ing them,  they  see  such  a  miserable  object  that  pity  itself 
has  no  tears  for  it ;  he  shuts  his  eyes  and  his  heart  so 
close,  that  not  even  a  sigh  escapes.  Victory  always  ex- 
alts one,  although  sometimes  defeat  does  not  degrade ; 
but  the  soul  of  bronze  that  can  survive  it  has  paid  a 
penalty  greater  than  the  reward  of  a  crown. 

I  accuse  no  one  ;  and  if  the  ashes  of  one  should  stir 
in  their  cell  of  death,  and  utter  a  sigh  ...  oh  !  I  have  not 
wished  to  weigh  my  hand  upon  the  great  man  that  sleeps. 
Rewards  and  punishments  beyond  the  grave  belong  to 
God's  judgment,  and  man  should  not  dare  to  usurp  the  at- 
tributes of  the  Omnipotent.  But  what  eyes  can  follow  the 
fatal  man  even  to  the  tomb,  without  shedding  tears  of 
blood  ?  Surrounded  by  daily  vexations  that  poison  life, 
and  allow  not  even  the  comfort  of  great  misfortunes, — that 
of  suffering  without  shame  ; — pierced  by  minutest  wounds, 
from  which  life  oozes  out  drop  by  drop ;  forced  to  beg 
bread  from  those  who,  by  the  baptism  of  fire,  were 
of  his  own  religion,* .  .  .  may  Heaven  grant  rest  to  the 
ashes  of  the  warrior !  But  ought  he,  the  man  of  might, 
who  had  looked  upon  the  universe  from  such  an  height 
that  hardly  any  human  mind  has  power  to  imagine,  have 

*  "  jpirai  demander  la  soupe  ace  braves:  quiconque  a  result 
bapteme  de  feu,  est  de  ma  religion.. — (Words  of  Napoleon.) 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  401 

allowed  himself  to  fall  so  low  ?  It  was  in  his  choice  to  die 
by  the  sword  of  the  brave  or  by  the  perfidy  of  fear. 
He  did  not  expect  this.*  And  what?  He  who  scruti- 
nized mockingly  the  vices  of  men,  and  used  them  as  a 
foundation  of  his  power,  ought  he  to  have  trusted  faith  ? 
In  that  island  where,  like  a  new  Prometheus,  a  deep  hate 
chained  him,  every  day  the  fiery  planet  taught  him  how 
the  man  who  had  known  no  equal  upon  earth  ought  to 
have  died  ;  for  there  the  sun,  unlike  our  climate,  is  not 
accompanied  by  the  sad  twilight,  but  rises  suddenly  iiv 
the  fulness  of  its  rays  in  the  firmament,  and  as  suddenly 
abandons  it  to  the  empire  of  darkness. f  Who  knows  how 
many  times  that  austere  man,  contemplating  the  solemn 
example,  lowered  his  looks  depressed,  and  murmured 
words  of  grief  over  the  lost  opportunity  !  Oh  !  if,  falling, 
the  hero  had  not  disappeared  in  him  !  oh,  if  he  himself  had 
not  revealed  the  secret,  that  his  heart  was  composed  of 
clay  like  all  the  other  children  of  Adam  !  if  the  curve  of  his 
life  had  not  grown  pale  at  its  setting,  but,  still  sparkling 
with  light,  had  sunk  in  the  silence  of  the  ages, — who  born 
of  woman  could  we  compare  with  him  ?  The  Wisdom 
that  governs  creation  willed,  perchance,  to  show  by  his 
solemn  vicissitudes  to  what  extremes  it  can  exalt  and  de- 
press a  human  soul  ?  If  it  be  so,  I  am  overwhelmed ; 
for  the  last  act  of  him  who  could  number  his  victories 
with  his  years,  the  astonished  nations  cannot  yet  decide 
whether  it  ought  to  be  attributed  to  constancy  or  coward- 
ice. | 

Beautiful  is  the  rest  after  victory,  but  more  beautiful  the 
morning  hailed  by  the  greedy  thought  of  conquest.  The 
predestined  Charles  hardly  perceived  the  first  dawning 
of  day,  before,  calling  his  squires,  he  ordered  them  to 
fasten  on  his  heaviest  armor ;  several  times  he  reproved 
them  for  their  slowness,  and  by  his  impatience  he  gave 
occasion  for  delay.  Finally  he  comes  forth,  all  armed  ; 

*  Words  of  Napoleon  in  leaving  the  English  ship  "  Bellerophon." 
f  See  description  of  the  island  of  Saint  Helena. 

\  To  die  a  prince,  or  live  a  slave — 
Thy  choice  is  most  ignobly  brave  ! 

BYRON'S  Ode  to  Napoleon* 


402  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

the  vanguard  waited  for  him  in  the  square,  ready  to  start ; 
being  received  with  loud  hurrahs,  he  replies  modestly  : 
"  We  have  not  yet  conquered." 

The  orders  are  given,  the  march  begun.  Charles  pur- 
sues his  rival  with  the  ardor  of  a  falcon,  for  he  knew 
too  well  that  fortune  often  changes  by  the  delay  of  one 
hour,  and  his  troops  were  invincible  in  the  first  flush  of 
victory.  He  did  not  take  the  road  to  Capua,  being  the 
longest ;  but  by  the  way  of  Venafro,  where,  knowing  that 
the  excesses  committed  at  San  Germano  would  set  the 
Neapolitans  against  him,  and  also  severely  admonished 
for  it  by  the  pontifical  legate,  he  strove  to  repair  the  fault. 
Therefore  he  received  with  kindness  the  syndics  of  the 
cities,  and  dismissed  them  with  assuring  expressions,  tell- 
ing them  to  report  to  their  citizens  that  he  had  come  to 
restore  religion,  and  to  vindicate  them  against  their  ty- 
rant. Then  he  proceeded  to  worship  the  bones  of  the 
martyr  St.  Nicandro,  from  which  bones  there  pereolates 
once  a  year  a  white  moisture  called  manna;  in  truth, 
when  he  visited  the  shrine,  the  season  of  the  miracle  was 
past.  Nevertheless,  the  Count  of  Provence  prayed  so 
much  Cardinal  Pignatelli,  and  Pignatelli  the  monks,  and 
the  monks  the  saint,  that  this  latter  condescended,  for 
that  once,  to  renew  the  miracle  out  of  season.  It  is  not 
to  be  told  what  a  hubbub  that  made  among  the  people  : 
they  recollected  that  King  Manfred  had  never  visited 
those  bones,  that  the  saint  never  had  renewed  the  miracle 
for  him  ;  Charles  was  therefore  a  Christian,  a  true  cham- 
pion of  the  church  ; — Manfred  a  heretic.  They  would 
never  support  the  rule  of  a  renegade,  of  an  excommu- 
nicated man.  The  Archbishop  of  Cosenza  removed  the 
interdict,  and  scattered  with  full  hands  the  treasures  of 
indulgences.  The  bells  pealed  out  glorious  anthems ;  the 
priests  called  the  new  master,  '  the  arm  of  Juda ; '  the 
citizens,  '  the  brave  and  courteous  ; ' — only  a  few,  more 
prudent,  were  silent  and  waited.  The  short  stay  which 
he  made  at  Venafro  erased  the  bad.impression  made  at 
San  Germano,  reassured  the  wavering,  confirmed  his  par- 
tisans. He  left  that  city,  accompanied  by  the  good  wishes 
of  its  people,  and  advanced  along  the  banks  of  the  Vol- 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  403 

turno  toward  its  mouth,  in  order  to  cross  it  with  greater 
security  ;  for  although  the  river  widens  the  nearer  it  gets 
to  the  sea,  yet  it  runs  less  rapidly  than  above  Venafro,  for 
the  reason  that,  at  this  point,  it  is  joined  almost  instan- 
taneously by  the  rivers  Cavaliere  and  della  Lorda.  Al- 
ready several  companies  had  forded  the  river,  when 
Charles  noticed  a  squadron  of  horsemen  coming  his  way, 
he  stood  in  doubt  as  to  their  intention,  but  as  they  ap- 
proached, he  recognized  from  their  flags  and  dresses 
that  they  were  ambassadors.  These  had  been  deputed 
to  render  him  lawful  homage  as  liege  lord  by  Rocca 
d'Arce,  Rocca  d'Evandro,  Rocca  Guglielma,  Rocca 
Monfina,  Castel  Forte,  and  many  other  fortified  places, 
some  spontaneously,  some  instigated  by  Count  Rinaldo. 
They  were  welcomed ;  Charles  praised  them  for  their 
submission,  and  assured  them  that,  trusting  to  their  good 
faith,  he  would  introduce  no  garrison  into  their  fortresses  ; 
— in  reality  because  he  did  not  wish  to  diminish  his 
army,  for  he  intended  to  assail  his  enemy  with  all  his 
forces,  knowing  that,  in  the  condition  in  which  things  were, 
the  sum  total  would  depend  upon  the  issue  of  a  single 
battle.  Then  he  dismissed  them — he  loading  them  with 
promises,  and  the  cardinal  with  indulgences.  Having 
crossed  the  Volturno,  he  advanced  by  forced  marches, 
skirting  the  foot  of  the  Matese  mountains,  so  that  towards 
evening  he  arrived  before  Alife.  This  city  also  opened  the 
gates  to  him,  and  if  he  had  been  less  severe,  the  citizens 
would  have  carried  him  in  triumph  through  the  street. 
Charles  repressed  that  movement,  and  they  contented 
themselves  by  hurrahs  so  loud  as  to  stifle  the  voice  of 
conscience  that  called  them  traitors.  If,  however,  there 
is  any  cause  that  can  excuse  treachery,  the  people  of 
Alife  had  one.  They  kept  in  mind  the  offence  of  Fred- 
erick II.,  who,  through  Count  Celano,  destroyed  by  fire 
and  sword  their  unhappy  city.  The  citizens  begged  him 
for  pardon,  but  the  eipperor  was  inexorable.  He,  dying, 
left  to  the  people  of  Alife  a  legacy  of  revenge,  and  they 
made  his  son  pay  for  it.  Indeed,  shameful  was  the  crime, 
more  shameful  the  revenge  ;  but  one  sin  brings  another, 
and  infamy  perpetuates  itself  in  the  world. — Talese  did  no 


404  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

better  than  Alife.  An  ancient  tradition  asserted  that  the 
ruins  of  a  city,  which  were  visible  a  mile  distant  from  that 
city,  had  been  once  another  Talese,  destroyed  by  the 
Saracens ;  hence  the  Taleseans  hated  them,  and  for 
their  sakes  would  have  wished  Manfred  also  dead  ; 
nevertheless,  at  the  first  appearance  of  the  troops  of 
Charles  they  closed  the  gates,  and  made  a  show  of  resist- 
ance. The  Provencals  were  getting  ready  to  assail  it, 
when  the  Archbishop  of  Cosenza,  in  full  pontificals,  ad- 
vanced under  the  walls  and  ordered  the  citizens  to  open 
the  gates.  If  they  resisted,  it  would  be  the  worse  for 
them,  for  in  a  short  time  a  deserved  punishment  would 
fall  upon  them,  both  in  this  life  and  in  the  next.  Talese 
fell  into  the  power  of  Charles,  in  the  same  manner  that 
Jericho  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Jews,  except  that  in 
Talese  the  walls  did  not  fall.  Charles  took  no  other  re- 
venge from  that  shadow  of  resistance,  except  depriv- 
ing the  city  of  the  honor  of  his  presence.  He  marched 
on,  and  advanced  to  St.  Agata  dei  Goti,  not  that  he 
hoped  to  take  possession  of  it  as  he  did,  but  because,  if 
the  battle  was  to  be  fought  in  the  plains  of  Benevento,  it 
was  necessary  for  him  to  hold  it,  otherwise  it  would  have 
threatened  too  close  on  his  rear.  Destiny  granted  him 
more  than  he  desired.  Two  miles  before  reaching  St. 
Agata  he  met  a  solemn  embassy  that  offered  to  him  the 
keys  of  the  city,  and  with  humble  prayers  recommended 
it.  Such  unexpected  good  fortune  moved  the  heart  of 
Charles,  although  naturally  so  fierce,  that  he  hardly  knew 
what  to  say.  He  entered  St.  Agata  exultingly,  and  was 
seen,  while  passing  the  gate,  to  bend  in  the  saddle, 
and  kiss  the  threshold.  Both  French  and  Romans  said 
that  in  that  tour,  rather  than  conquest,  there  appeared 
clearly  the  hand  of  Providence;  Charles  himself  began 
to  believe  it  also.  The  idea  of  being  predestined  seems  a 
great  thing,  and  seduces  even  great  minds.  Without 
even  taking  rest,  armed  as  he  was,  he  rode  to  the  church 
that  contains  the  sacred  relics  of  St.  Menna  the  Solitary, 
and  rendered  thanks  to  the  Most  High. 

The  fatal  day  approached.     Manfred,  on  the  day  after 
Charles  had  entered  St.  Agata  dei  Goti,  called  a  council  of 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  405 

war  at  Benevento  to  discuss  whether  they  should  accept 
battle,  or  shut  themselves  up  within  the  defences  of  the 
city.  Count  Giordano  d'Angalone,  by  Manfred's  orders, 
spoke  the  first.  "In  my  opinion,"  said  he,  "the  same 
reasons  that  ought  to  have  ruined  Charles'  enterprise  at 
San  Germano  will  ruin  it  at  Benevento  ;  we  must  keep 
him  at  bay  ;  you  must  not  be  impatient  of  delay  ;  by  dal- 
lying, we  use  up  the  enemy.  Your  Serene  Highness  will 
in  the  meanwhile  get  reinforcements  from  the  troops  that 
Corrado  of  Antioch  has  in  the  Abbruzzis,  from  those  that 
the  Counts  Federigo,  Ventimiglia  and  Capece  are  collect- 
ing in  Calabria  and  Sicily,  and  it  will  give  also  time  to  the 
barons  to  bring  up  their  contingencies." 

"  Count  d'Angalone,"  interrupted  Manfred,  "  to-day  the 
situation  is  very  different  from  what  it  was  at  San  Ger- 
mano :  what  then  seemed  favorable,  now  would  be  inju- 
rious ;  our  honor  requires  an  amend." 

"  Save  your  Serene  Highness*  grace,  you  know  better 
than  any  other  that  the  atfairs  of  the  kingdom  are  not 
governed  by  the  same  rules  as  the  songs  of  the  trouba- 
dours ;  and  honor  belongs  to  the  conqueror  .  .  ." 

"  And  what  then  ?  "  interposed  Ghino  di  Tacco  ;  "  since 
this  Provengal  thief  was  so  ready  to  invest  the  kingdom, 
and  is  so  ready  of  wit  as  to  send  a  glove  in  token  of  chal- 
lenge to  the  son  of  an  emperor  calling  him  out  to  battle, 
shall  we  be  so  cowardly  as  not  to  reply  to  the  call  ?  " 

"  How  long  since  has  it  been  the  custom,  my  brave 
knight,"  added  d'Angalone,  "  that  we  should  fight  when 
it  pleases  the  enemy  ?  Duels  perhaps  have  different  laws, 
but  for  battles,  the  most  honorable  time  is  when  you  are 
most  sure  of  success  .  .  ." 

"You  speak  like  the  wise  master  of  war  that  you  are," 
interrupted  the  Marquis  and  Count  of  Lancia ;  "  neverthe- 
less you  must  consider  that,  by  the  reinforcements  that 
we  have  found  at  Benevento,  we  already  outnumber  the 
army  of  France  ;  consider  also  that  this  raid  of  Charles 
will  spread  about  with  the  fame  of  a  victor)',  and  he  will 
be  certainly  reinforced  by  the  Church  of  Rome,  which  is 
prone  to  aid  when  it  is  sure  of  a  reward  ;  and  beside, — I 
say  it  with  deep  regret,  but  yet  experience  has  taught  me 


406  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

to  say  it, — who  knows  how  many  people,  flattered  by  the 
hope  of  change,  deluded  by  Charles'  promises,  and  even 
inspired  by  their  ill-will,  may  not  rebel  against  our  king 
on  account  of  this  delay  ?  This  is  a  fire  that  we  must 
quench  at  all  costs ;  bad  example  is  very  contagious ; 
and  if  it  spread  in  the  provinces,  we  shall  have  both  in- 
ternal and  foreign  war,  when  at  present  we  have  only  the 
latter." 

"  Machatub    Ruby ! "    exclaimed    the   Emir,     "  it   is 
destined  ;  if  Allah  so  will,  you  will  find  your  fate  accom-' 
plished  while  you  are  preparing  to  resist  it  ;  if  we  are  to 
win,  the  troops  we  have  will  be  sufficient ;  if  we  are  to 
lose,  those  that  are  to  come  will  not  be  sufficient." 

"  I  repeat  to  you  that  precautions  for  the  probabil- 
ities of  victory  are  never  too  many,  and  this  fatalist 
doctrine  of  yours  does  good  neither  to  the  soul  nor  to  the 
body ;  besides,  the  Gospel  condemns  it." 

Thus  replied  the  wise  Giordano ;  and  although  the 
only  one  to  sustain  his  own  opinion,  he  would  with  his  wise 
argument  have  succeeded  in  persuading  Manfred,  when 
of  a  sudden  a  loud  sound  of  trumpets  cut  short  the  words 
in  his  mouth.  .  .  .  Manfred  sprang  up,  grasping  his  sword, 
the  assembled  captains  did  the  same,  crying :  "  To 
arms  !  to  arms  !  "  Giordano  himself,  without  his  brain 
contributing  to  it  at  all,  carried  away  by  the  battle  cry, 
found  his  hand  on  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  his  voice 
sounding  "  to  arms." 

"  Be  it  '  to  arms,'  then  ! "  exclaimed  Manfred,  exalted 
by  military  ardor ;  then  hastily  commanded  :  "  Count 
d'Angalone,  Calvagno,  you  take  your  German  companies, 
and  form  with  them  a  single  battalion  in  column,  rather 
than  in  line  ;  it  will  be  the  vanguard.  Let  it  attack 
first,  and  strive  to  break  the  enemy's  ranks,  and  advance 
further  and  further  without  disbanding,  even  if  it  reaches  to 
the  rear  of  Charles.  You,  Count  Lancia,  Ghino,  with  your 
Tuscans  and  Lombards,  and  you,  Jussuff,  with  all  your 
Saracens,  will  compose  the  main  body  of  the  battle  ; 
you  will  follow  immediately  the  vanguard,  not  too  near 
though, — half  a  bow-shot  distance  ;  you  will  avail  yourself 
of  the  first  impression  made  by  the  Germans,  which  infal- 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  407 

libly  must  take  place ;  rush  after  them,  disband  in  skir- 
mish order  ;  if  necessary,  dismount  from  your  horses,  and 
disperse  the  enemy's  ranks.  Rogiero,  we  entrust  the 
royal  standard  to  you  ;  we  at  the  head  of  the  bridge  with 
our  Apulians  will  command  the  reserve.  Go  and  execute 
all  these'orders ;  we  will  join  you  in  an  instant ;  indeed, 
I  shall  not  recommend  you  to  do  your  duty,  only  pray 
fortune  to  favor  your  bravery." 


"  Elena,  my  sweet  wife,"  spoke  Manfred,  hastening  to 
the  queen,  armed  as  he  was  with  mail  and  armor  ;  he 
shook  her  delicate  hand  with  his  iron  gauntlet  so  strongly, 
that  the  blue  marks  remained  on  it  for  some  time. 
"  Elena,  farewell !  Before  this  sun  sets  I  shall  be  either 
victorious  or  dead."  Then,  without  waiting  a  reply,  he 
turned  to  his  children,  embraced  and  kissed  them  :  "  You 
will  be  happy,  I  hope ;  but  if  fate  should  decree  other- 
wise, remember  always  that  you  are  grandchildren  of  em- 
perors, children  of  the  noble  Manfred.  The  only  advice 
that  a  conquered  king  can  give  to  his  children  to  well 
conduct  themselves  in  life,  is  to  know  how  to  die.  Fear 
not  death  ;  it  is  false  that  it  is  a  terrible  thing  ;  the  nearer 
rnan  approaches  it,  the  less  repugnant  it  seems,  and  on  the 
point  of  meeting  it,  even  beautiful.  Preserve  your  days, 
my  children,  in  spite  of  persecution,  in  spite  of  misery,  but 
do  not  forget  that  heaven  has  prepared  an  asylum  against 
infamy — the  grave.  .  .  ."  They  were  all  weeping ;  Man- 
fred smiled  lovingly  on  them,  then  added  :  "  Is  this  the  way 
you  give  courage  to  your  king  for  the  approaching  battle  ? 
Is  it  becoming  in  you  to  bid  farewell  with  tears  to  the  war- 
rior in  the  moment  of  danger  ?  In  truth,  I  swear  to  you 
that  before  long  those  tears  will  bathe  the  cheeks  of  the 
Provencal  women.  .  .  .  But  destiny.  .  .  .  Oh  !  where  art 
thou,  my  faithful  Benincasa?" 

"  Are  there  wanting  faithful  servants  to  your  sacred 
person?"  exclaimed,  coming  forward  with  grave  steps, 
the  king's  physician,  John  of  Procida;  "if  my  king  will 
honor  me  with  his  commands,  as  long  as  my  life  lasts  I 
swear  to  execute  them." 

"  Generous  son  of  a  generous  father,  we  doubt  not 


408  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

your  valor.  If  you  had  the  years  of  Benincasa  beside 
his  name  and  resemblance,  we  should  not  know  that  there 
was  any  difference  between  you  two  ;  yet  your  offer  is  so 
acceptable  to  us,  that  we  will  entrust  our  family  to  you 
alone,  though  still  so  young.  If  the  end  of  our  reign  is 
decreed  above,  if  the  race  of  Frederick  shall  nevermore 
rule  the  possessions  of  Sicily,  you  will  conduct  in  safety  my 
wife  and  children  to  Lucera,  or,  better,  to  Manfredonia.  . .  . 
You,  my  beloved,  will  repair  wherever  you  please,  whether 
to  Epirus  to  your  father,  or  to  Arragon  to  the  court  of 
Peter.  Certainly  you  will  have  lost  your  crown,  lost  me 
your  husband,  whom  you  would  have  loved  even  without 
a  crown  ;  our  children  will  remain  to  yon, — our  children, 
queen,  support  to  your  failing  years,  comfort  for  your  last 
misfortunes  ;  to  know  that  you  will  be  safe  after  my 
death  gives  strength  to  my  soul.  Come  now,  a  kiss ;  .  .  . 
weep  not  so  ;  ...  you  know  not  whether  it  will  be  the 
last.  Only  God  knows."  Then  he  loosened  himself  from 
their  embraces,  speaking  to  John  of  Procida  :  "  Re- 
member, at  Manfredonia  ;  nor  surrender  the  -fortress, 
either  by  threats  or  prayers,  until  there  should  arrive  gal- 
leys from  Catalonia  or  Greece.  .  .  ." 

Rogiero,  who,  while  Manfred  was  in  the  arms  of  his 
family,  had  remained  immovable,  only  four  steps  distant, 
now  attempted  to  raise  his  looks  and  move  a  step ;  he  at- 
tempted to  speak,  but  his  words  issued  broken,  his  lips 
trembled  convulsively.  Yole  fixed  her  eyes  on  him, 
with  the  pupils  intent,  eyes  dilated  in  a  terrible  manner  ; 
she  also  attempted  to  reply  to  him,  but  her  heaviag  heart 
prevented  the  utterance  of  a  single  word.  She  tried 
again  ; — she  employed  every  power  of  her  mind,  every 
faculty  of  her  body,  to  this  effect,  but  in  vain ;  the  veins 
of  her  temples  swelled  with  a  lead  color,  her  face  reddened 
with  a  flush  of  blood  ;  it  seemed  that  her  whole  life  would 
escape  in  those  words ;  nature  could  not  withstand  that 
impossible  effort,  and,  with  a  piercing  cry,  she  fell,  pale, 
senseless,  in  her  mother's  arms. 

The  Provengal  trumpets  call  once  again  the  enemy  to 
battle.  Manfred,  seeming  to  hear  in  that  sound  a  voice  of 
mockery,  rushes  to  the  door,  crying  :  Swabia  !  Swabia  ! 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  409 

Rogiero,  seeing  the  king  departing,  looks  at  Yole,  raises 
his  hand  to  Heaven,  sighing  :  "  Grant  that  I  may  see 
her  happy,  or  never  see  her  again  ! "  and  follows  him. 
Elena,  supporting  her  daughter,  cannot  follow  Manfred 
with  her  steps,  but  she  follows  him  with  a  cry.  Only 
Manfredino  runs  after  his  father's  steps,  crying  :  "  Father, 
father  ! 'will  you  come  back  this  evening?"  Unhappy 
boy  !  he  first  hears  his  steps  distinctly,  then  a  confused 
noise,  finally  nothing  but  silence.  He  returns  weeping, 
with  his  hands  in  his  hair,  saying  :  "  Father  is  gone, 
gone,  and  has  not  promised  me  to  come  back  this  even- 
ing!" 

The  army  of  Charles,  arriving  on  the  summit  of  the 
neighboring  mountains,  admires  the  city  of  Benevento,  so 
famous  for  its  beauty  and  antiquity,  no  less  than  for  the 
erroneous  traditions  of  the  people.  Its  origin  is  lost  in 
the  darkness  of  mythology,  although  there  are  not  want- 
ing authors  who  assert  that  it  was  built  by  Diomedes,  king 
of  the»y£tolis,  after  the  Trojan  war.  There  are  few 
records  of  it  during  the  dominion  of  the  Romans,  since 
the  history  of  this  nation  absorbs  all  other  histories  of 
the  conquered  cities  ;  and  as  long  as  it  lasted,  Rome 
meant  the  whole  of  Italy.  Chronicles  relate  that  Totilas 
took  it  from  the  dominion  of  the  empire  of  the  East ; 
but  its  greatness  begins  after  the  conquest  of  the  Longo- 
bards,  for  Otaris  having  subdued  Italy  as  'far  as  Reggio 
in  Calabria,  founded  it  into  a  rich  dukedom,  and  gave  it 
in  fief -to  Tatone,  his  favorite  general.  We  will  not  give 
the  chronology  of  the  dukes  that  succeeded  him ;  we  will 
'only  state  that,  on  the  descent  of  Charlemagne  in  Italy, 
the  duchy  was  not  suppressed,  but  confirmed  to  the 
Duke  Arechi,  with  the  condition  that  he  should  shave  his 
beard,  and  cause  all  his  Longobards  to  do  likewise.  Also, 
that  he  should  coin  money  with  the  name  of  Charles,  and 
should  destroy  the  fortresses  of  Salerno,  of  Acerenza  and 
Conza.  Grimoaldo,  valorous  son  of  Arechi,  did  not  keep 
these  conditions,  alleging  that  he  was  free  and  unstained, 
both  on  his  father's  and  on  his  mother 's  side,  and  with  the 
aid  of  God  he  would  maintain  himself  free.  Nor  did  his 
18 


410  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

deed  belie  his  words,  for  he  maintained  himself  indepen- 
dent against  the  empire  ;  caused  himself  to  be  anointed 
by  the  bishops  as  a  king,  and  used  a  royal  crown.  The 
dukes  that  succeeded  this  Grimoaldo  until  the  Normans 
are  not  distinguished  except  by  the  different  image  im- 
pressed on  their  medals,  or  by  some  crime.  The  new! 
masters,  the  Normans,  bitterly  oppressing  the1  people,  I 
forced  them  to  implore  the  aid  of  Pope  Leo  IX.,  who 
went  to  Germany  to  the  Emperor  Henry  III.,  and  agreed 
with  him  to  exchange  the  one  hundred  silver  marks  and 
white  palfrey  imposed  by  Benedict  II.  upon  the  church  of 
Banberg,  for  the  lordship  of  Benevento,  provided  he 
furnished  .him  with  troops  to  conquer  it.  Pope  Leo  suc- 
ceeded in  his  enterprise  with  the  aid  of  the  people,  and 
gave  the  investiture  of  the  dukedom  to  Rodulphus,  a 
Longobard,  who  shortly  after  was  expelled  by  Anfred  the 
Norman,  Count  of  Apulia,  elder  brother  of  Guiscard. 
By  this  new  offence  the  asperity  between  Rome  and  the 
Normans  increased,  and  there  arose  from  it  a  tedious 
series  of  small  encounters,  which  have  nothing  in  common 
with  great  battles  except  the  slaughter.  Finally,  in  the 
year  1059,  these  contentions  were  appeased  by  a  treaty 
signed  in  the  city  of  Melfi,  and  Benevento  was  restored 
to  the  Holy  See,  to  be  later  snatched  away  from  it  again. 
The  greatest  damage  which  the  contested  city  received 
was  inflicted  by  Frederick  II.,  who  in  1242,  after  having 
conquered  it,  levelled  her  walls.  It  bare  the  marks  of 
the  ferocity  and  ambition  of  those  who  had  first  oppressed 
it,  and  then  chosen  it  for  a  residence.  The  aspect  itself 
was  the  history  of  its  vicissitudes.  Near  it  was  admired  a 
triumphal  arch  of  Parian  marble,  erected  to  Trajan,  to* 
commemorate  the  road  that  he  had  constructed  at  his 
expense  from  Brindisi  to  Rome.  A  portion  of  the  walls 
that  were  not  demolished  by  Frederick,  showed  a  strange 
style  of  architecture,  introduced  by  the  northerners  into 
Italy ;  the  new  repairs,  and  the  eight  gates  constructed 
by  the  orders  of  Manfred,  the  renaissance  of  arts.  The 
castle  built  by  the  Holy  See,  at  the  instance  of  the  pontifi- 
cal governor,  rising  with  its  brown  towers  over  the  city, 
showed,  and  perhaps  still  shows  to  the  traveller,  what 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  411 

was  in  those  times  the  solemn  majesty  of  the  successors 
of  St.  Peter. 

The  Count  of  Provence,  the  more  he  looked  at  the  city, 
the  more  he  thought  it  worthy  of  conquest.  He  scanned 
her  round  many  times  with  his  eyes,  to  discover  a  weak 
point  in  which  he  could  make  a  breach,  and  attempt 
an  assault ;  •  but  he  saw  that  it  was  turreted  with  such 
mastery  of  military  art,  that  it  would  have  been  an  impos- 
sible thing  to  conquer  it  by  force.  He  sighed,  and  turned 
to  contemplate  the  valley  beneath.  It  was  spacious, 
and  worthy  to  fight-  a  decisive  battle  in  ;  the  rivers 
Galore  and  Sabato,  joining  their  waters  at  the  end  of  Ben- 
evento, ran  through  it,  and  a  magnificent  bridge  offered 
a  wide  passage  from  one  bank, to  the  other.  He  asked 
what  was  the  name  of  the  valley.  They  replied,  "  Santa 
Maria  della  Grandella." 

"  Oh,  if  we  could  only  draw  the  enemy  into  this  valley  !  " 
exclaimed  Charles  to  Montfort. 

"  Let  us  rush  precipitously  to  occupy  that  bridge, 
and  .-.  :" 

"  And  the  enemy,  recognizing  his  advantage,  will  not 
come  out  to  fight.  .  .  .  Challenge  the  enemy  with  all  your 
trumpets." 

This  was  the  first  call  that  interrupted  the  council  of 
war  of  Manfred.  After  this  signal  he  stopped,  panting 
with  hope  and  fear,  to  espy  what  would  come  out  of  it. 
The  gates  open,  and  the  companies  of  the  enemy's 
troops  issue  forth  and  spread  in  order  of  battle  through 
the  valley,  towards  the  head  of  the  bridge. 

"  Do  my  eyes  deceive  me  ?'"  asked  Charles  of  the 
barons  that  stood  around  him ;  "  is  Manfred  coming 
out  ?  Yes,  he  comes  out.  .  .  .  Bon  Dieu,  great  thanks  ! 
Behold,  barons,  the  day  that  you  have  so  much  desired!  .  .  . 
Monjoy !  Monjoy I  the  battle  is  near" 

"  My  fair  cousin,"  said  in  undertone  Montfort  to  the 
Count  of  Provence,  "there  are  some  knights  in  the 
enemy's  camp  ..."  And  the  rest  he  whispered  in  such  a 
way  that  not  one  of  the  barons  that  stood  around  could 
hear  him.  Charles  seemed  at  fir§t  indignant,  and  abso- 
lutely refused  ;  but  Montfort  insisted,  and  he  finally  con- 


412  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

sented,  saying,  "  Do  as  you  wish,  cousin  ;  but  mind  that 
he  be  worthy  of  wearing  it.  Certainly,  there  are  some 
terribly  brave  men  among  the  knights  of  the  enemy." 

"  Leave  it  to  me  :  I  will  find  your  man,  a  heart  of  iron, 
with  a  head  in  the  clouds."  And  so  saying,  Montfort 
sought  among  the  files  a  Gascon  gentleman  named  Sir 
Enry  de  Cocence,  and  reported  to  him  that  the  king,  in 
consideration  of  his  many  merits,  had  thought  of  allowing 
him  to  wear  his  own  royal  arms,  and  appoint  him  com- 
mander of  the  vanguard.  "I,"  added  he  slyly,  "might 
have  contended  for  the  honor,  but  as  a  good  friend  of 
yours  desisted.  Think  of  the  honor  that  will  redound  to 
your  family.  Think,  Sir  Enry,  that  henceforth  you  will 
be  able  to  engraft  in  your  arms  the  lily  of  France." 

"  Truly,  great  is  the  honor  that  King  Charles  confers 
on  us,"  replied  the  knight,  "yet  not  greater  than 'the 
race  of  the  Viscounts  of  Cocence  is  accustomed  to. 
Look,  Sir  Montfort,  this  gold  bit,  gules /  -Do  you  know 
the  origin  of  it  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  it  spoken  of,  Sir  Henry.  .  .  ." 

"  What !  do  you  ignore  perhaps,  Sir  Montfort,  that 
Sir  Regnault  de  Cocence  quartered  it  for  having  held  the 
bridle  of  King  Clodoveus — may  the  Lord  rest  his  soul ! — 
after  the  battle  of  Soissons  ?  And  these  hands  clasped 
in  or?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  viscount ;  but  come,  for  the  king  is 
waiting  for  us,  and  the  enemy  is  advancing." 

"  Godfrey  Viscount,  flag-bearer  of  the  Emperor  Charle- 
magne,— peace  to  his  imperial  soul, — had  them  cut  at  the 
battle  of  Chiusa,  while  carrying  the  oriflamme  ;  and  the 
chronicle  relates  that  Sir  Godfroy,  without  flinching, 
seized  it  with  his  teeth,  and  thus  restored  it  to  the  em- 
peror, who  said  to  him  :  '  O  sir  .  .  .'  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  th'e  king- 
dom, page  four  thousand  one  hundred  and  eight.  I  will 
show  you  the  passage  :  it  is  said  that  it  was  written  by 
Arduin,  ...  a  very  learned  man  that  Arduin,  Viscount 
— chief  councillor  of  Charlemagne,  and  deacon  of  St. 
Rhemis."  And  thus  interrupting  him,  and  dragging  him 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  413 

along,    Montfort   led  him  to   the  presence  of  Charles, 
saying  to  him  :    "  Here  is  the  viscount." 

"  Sir  Enry,  your  lofty  deeds  have  found  so  much  merit 
in  our  eyes,  that  we  have  come  to  the  resolution  of  arm- 
ing you  with  our  armor,  and  of  placing  you  to  the  van- 
guard of  the  army."  He  made  a  sign  to  his  esquires, 
who  surrounded  the  viscount,  and  began  to  unbuckle  his 
armor.  "  Gran  mercy,  Sir  Charles  :  great  is  the  honor 
you  do  me,  yet  such  as  the  race  of  the  Cocence  has 
been  accustomed  to  from  time  immemorial.  You  know 
.  .  ."  (and  "  tout  doucement"  said  he,  vexed,  to  the  es- 
quires, who  were  pulling  off  his  armor  very  roughly) — 
"  you  know,  Sir  Charles,  the  origin  of  the  gold  bit  ?  " 

"  St.  Denis  !  Do  you  imagine  that  we  are  so  ignorant, 
of  the  glories  of  France  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  just  what  I  say :  and  the  hands  clasped 
in .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  do  ; ...  great  fame  awaits  you  in  that 
valley,  Sir  Enry.!' 

"  Man  does  what  he  cap ;  nevertheless  we  will  do  so 
much,  Sir  Charles,  that  you  will  remain  satisfied  :  we  will 
assail  the  enemy  in  the  rear  . .  ."  ("  Doucement"  said  he 
to  the  esquires,  who,  in  removing  his  gauntlets,  had 
scratched  his  hands) — "  in  the  rear,  crossing  over  those 
hills.  ...  It  is  true  that,  before  reaching  the  rear  of  the 
enemy,  we  will  meet  Benevento  ;  but  we  will  take  it  by 
force,  and  then  .  .  ." 

Thus  speaking,  he  had  been  left  in  his  leathern  doublet ; 
— the  enemy  was  fast  approaching  the  plain  ;  Charles 
began  to  arm  him  with  his  armor,  and  while  doing  so  he 
advised  him,  saying  :  "  No,  Sir  Enry  ;  you  will  leave  the 
trouble  of  guiding  the  movements  to  the  marshall  Mire- 
poix  and  to  Vandamme  ;  you  try  to  strike  good  blows  : 
the  command  may  destroy  you .  .  ."  (at  this  point  he 
buckled  his  spurs.)  "  I  could  swear  that  no  knight  will  have 
gained  his  golden  spurs  better  than  you."  Then  he  took 
away  from  his  neck*  the  order  of  Commander  d1  Outremer, 
and  placing  it  on  that  of  the  viscount,  added  :  "  This 
henceforth  will  honor  your  life  or  your  grave." — The  Order 
of  Outremer,  known  also  by  the  name  of  the  Vessel  and 


414  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

the  Double  Moon,  was  instituted  by  St.  Louis,  brother  of 
Charles  d'Anjou,  in  1262,  in  his  second  voyage  into  Africa. 
It  was  composed  of  a  chain  of  scallop  shells  intermixed 
with  half  moons,  from  which  hung  a  medallion  that  re- 
presented a  ship  upon  the  sea.  Every  object  had  its 
meaning  :  the  scallop  shells  indicated  the  shores  olAigues- 
mortes,  where  the  French  embarked  ;  the  half  moons,  the 
war  undertaken  against  the  infidels ;  the  ship,  their  cross- 
ing the  sea.  In  truth,  Charles  recalled  a  very  disastrous 
campaign  with  those  insignia  of  the  Holy  Land  upon  his 
breast ;  nevertheless,  calculating  the  good  that  would  ac- 
crue to  him  by  this  ostentation  of  piety,  greater  than  the 
evil  by  the  lowered  reputation  of  arms,  he  wore  it  al- 
ways in  Italy. 

The  viscount  being  fully  armed,  Charles  ordered  his 
horse  to  be  brought ;  the  generous  animal  appeared,  cov- 
ered with  an  immense  cloth  embroidered  irithjleur~de-tif, 
and  as  soon  as  he  recognized  his  master, '  he  neighed. 
Charles  showed  some  repugnance  in  yielding  him,  yet 
finally,  tossing  his  head,  "G^"  said  he,  "Benevento  is 
well  worth  a  caparisoned  horse."  This  business  ended, 
"  Barons,"  he  added,  "  listen  to  the  orders :  you,  Sir  Vis- 
count de  Cocence,  Marshal  Mirepoix,  Vandamme,  Cler- 
mont,  take  with  you  one  thousand  French  knights,  and 
sustain  the  first  assault ;  the  battle  will  be  composed  of 
the  brigades  of  the  Flemings,  the  Brabantians,  the  Picar- 
dians,  the  Romans  and  the  knights  of  the  queen ;  Guill- 
aume  1'Etendard  will  be  flag-bearer,  and  commanded  by 
our  cousin  Robert  of  Flanders,  the  constable  Giles 
Lebrun,  and  Beltrand  de  Balz  ;  we  will  command  the 
reserve  with  the  Provengals  ;  we  will  have  with  us  Guy 
de  Montfort,  Crary,  and  you,  Count  Guerra,  with  the 
Guelphs  of  Tuscany  ;  the  war-cries  are  the  usual  ones 
of  France,  '  Monjoy,  Chevaliers.'  Go  then,  my  children, 
and  acquire  glory." 

They  were  about  moving,  when,  riding  on  a  very  white 
mule,  and  surrounded  by  prelates,  appe*ared  Bartholomew 
Pignatelli,  Archbishop  of  Cosenza,  arrayed  in  his  most 
magnificent  robes  ;  the  mule  itself  was  covered  by  a  cloth 
of  gold  embroidered  with  silver  kettles  ;  the  servants  also 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  415 

wore  garments  of  gold  with  silver  kettles,  and  even  the 
major-domos  carried  golden  maces  with  silver  kettles.  In 
truth,  .this  armorial  device  is  very  glorious,  since  the 
chronicles  of  the  times  relate  that  a  certain  Landulph, 
captain  of  the  galleys  of  King  Roger  during  the  siege  of 
Constantinapolis,  was  so  bold,  that,  penetrating  into  the 
kitchens  of  the  Emperor  Emmanuel,  he  carried  off  three 
silver  kettles,  and  then  assumed  them  as  a  family  pre- 
tence ;  still  it  smacks  a  little  of  ridicule,  and  the  vanity 
of  the  archbishop  in  sticking  it  up  everywhere  rendered  it 
still  more  so.  Pignatelli  coming  before  Charles,  asked 
him  gravely  whether  he  desired  him  to  read  the  bulls  of 
the  indulge»ces  granted  by  Alexander  IV.,  Urban  IV., 
and  Clement  IV.,  to  all  those  who  fought  in  this  holy 
crusade.  Charles  replied  that  there  was  no  need  of  it, 
for  he  knew  them  all  par  cceur ;  he  would  thank  him, 
however,  if  he  would  only  bless  them. 

The  archbishop  then  took  in  his  hand  the  sprinkler, 
without  dismountingfrom  his  mule,  and  with  many  goodly 
orisons  blessed  them  ;  then  he  recited  in  haste  a  sort  of 
peroration,  in  which  he  called  Manfred,  son  of  Acab,  ac- 
cursed by  the  sacred  anathema,  race  of  vipers,  Arian, 
follower  of  Arnold,  of  Priscillian,  and  an  atheist,  all  at  the 
same  time ;  and  on  the  contrary  calling  the  French  true 
children  of  Israel,  descendants  in  direct  line  from  the  tribe 
of  Judah.  He  sang  the  Exurge,  Domine,  et  defende  cau- 
sam  tuam,  etc.,  and  dismissed  them  to  slaughter  each 
other  merrily  in  yonder  plains. 

"  Now  are  mine  ears  with^  notes  of  anguish  thrilled." 

On  both  sides,  crying  u Monjoy"  and  "  Swabia"  the 
armies  rush  at  a  great  pace  on  each  other,  anxious  of  vic- 
tory. The  French,  under  the  orders  of  Marshal  Mirepoix, 
assail  in  a  rather  wide  line  of  battle,  because,  seeing  the 
German  squadron  advance  en  masse.,  they  hope  to  surround 
them  in  the  flanks  with  the  extreme  right  and  left  of  their 
line  of  battle,  commanded  by  the  brothers  Vandamme. 
The  German  cavalry  had  in  those  days  the  reputation  of 
unconquerable,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  (so  much  things 
change  in  this  world,)  incapable  then,  for  want  of  discipline, 


416  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

of  resistance,  was  insuperable  in  the  first  charge.  Ex- 
ecuting then  the  orxlers  of  the  king,  it  persists  against  the 
centre  of  the  enemy's  vanguard,  and  presses  onward  with 
so  much  constancy  that,  partly  by  its  great  valor,  partly  be- 
cause the  French  centre  was  too  weak,  it  began  to  waver, 
to  scatter,  and  finally  to  disperse.  The  extreme  wings  of 
the  vanguard,  that  had  already  advanced,  forming  a  semi- 
circle to  attack  the  German  flanks,  met  of  a  sudden  the 
.main  battle  of  Manfred,  that  marched  in  line  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  vanguard;  so  that,  instead  of  attacking 
on  the  flanks,  they  were  obliged  to  defend  themselves  in  the 
front  from  overwhelming  forces.  Fortune  still  led  on  the 
sad  flattery  of  early  success  :  the  centre  squadrons  of  the 
battle,  composed  of  the  troops  of  Ghino  and  the  Saracens, 
taking  advantage  of  the  gap  opened  by  the  Germans,  gal- 
loped at  full  speed  within  it,  crying  "  Swabia  !  Swabia  !  " 
which  resounded  through  the  neighboring  valleys,  and  in- 
creased the  terror.  The  Saracens  added  to  this  the  inces- 
sant beating  of  their  drums ;  for  in  that  age  they  were 
the  only  ones  who  used  this  invention  of  theirs,  which  was 
afterwards  adopted  by  European  civilization  to  trans- 
mit signals  in  war,  and  to  tear  the  ears  of  the  citizens 
in  peace  ;  adding  to  it  the  fifes  of  its  own,  to  complete 
the  harmony.  Robert  of  Flanders  and  the  Constable 
Lebrun  hastened  forward  with  the  French  centre  to  sup- 
port the  wavering  fates  of  the  day.  "  Monjoy  and  St. 
Martin!"  cry  they  in  their  turn,  and  bravely  meet  the 
enemy.  The  knights  of  the  queen  formed  a  part  of  this 
division,  and  tradition  states  that  many  valiant  encoun- 
ters took  place,  which  history  has  not  transmitted  to  us ; 
it  only  narrates  that  Sir  Enry  de  Cocence,  maddened  that 
he  had  been  driven  back  more  than  two  bows'  distance, 
rushed  furiously  through  the  ranks,  exclaiming,  "  Christian 
knights,  onward  for  St.  Denis ;  .  .  .  what  will  they  say  of 
me  in  France  ?  Shame  on  you  !  onward  ! . . .  onward  ! .  .  . 
our  enemies  are  Turks,  heretics  . .  .  their  swords  do  not  cut, 
God  has  excommunicated  them."  Two  knights  of  Manfred, 
noticing  Cocence,  whom  they  mistook  for  Charles  d'Anjou 
moving  about  so  openly  among  his  soldiers,  detached  them- 
selves from  the  ranks,  and  placing  their  spears  in  rest, 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  417 

rushed  upon  him  :  these  were  Ghino  and  Rogiero.  In- 
deed, the  bystanders  warned  the  viscount  of  the  imminent 
danger,  but  he,  waiting  for  them  in  an  attitude  of  defiance, 
cried  :  "Now  you  will  see  good  fun."  The  knights  ar- 
riving at  a  full  gallop  struck  him  simultaneously  in  the 
middle  of  the  breast,  in  such  way  that  both  the  points 
pierced  him  through  at"  a  cross  angle,  and,  lifting  him  from 
the  saddle,  dragged  him  a  step  or  two,  thus  transfixed  in 
their  spears.  There  arose  a  cry  of  victory  in  Manfred's 
army,  believing  that  the  Count  of  Provence  had  been  killed, 
and  the  battle  continued  more  fiercely  than  ever.  Nor  did 
the  French  defend  themselves  less  bravely,  although  it 
appeared  evident  that  in  the  end  they  would  have  lost. 
Thus  belaboring  each  other,  the  two  armies  had  passed 
the  morning  hours,  when  on  the  bloody  field  Giordano 
d'Angalone,  without  crest  on  his  helmet,  his  mail  ripped, 
his  armor  bent  in  several  parts,  holding  in  his  hand  his 
broken  sword,  met  the  Emir  Jussuff.  "  Give  me  your 
scimetar,"  said  he ;  "  we  only  need  a  few  more  blows, 
and  the  victory  is  ours." 

"  Follow  me,  count,"  replied  the  Emir,  "  and  I  will 
provide  you  with  a  sword."  And  so  saying,  he  set  spurs 
against  Clermont,  who  from  his  arms,  and  more  so  from 
his  acts,  showed  himself  a  very  valiant  knight.  Cler- 
mont, seeing  that  warrior  rush  upon  him  so  heedlessly, 
placed  himself  in  guard,  sure  of  his  back-hand  stroke  ; 
when  he  had  reached  the  proper  distance  he  struck  with 
his  full  force.  The  Emir,  with  wonderful  dexterity,  bent 
his  body  upon  the  neck  of  the  horse,  and  the  enemy's  sword 
passed  by,  hardly  grazing  his  back.  He  then  pulled  the 
bridle  of  his  swift  Borak,  turned  him  back,  and  let  fall  a 
blow  on  the  helmet  of  Clermont,  who,  relaxing  his  hold, 
opening  his  arms,  fell  dead  on  the  field.  The  Emir  bent 
from  his  saddle,  seized  Clermont's  sword,  and  handing  it 
to  Count  d'Angalone,  said  :  "Take  it, — thus  Jussuff  pro- 
vides his  friends  with  swords." 

"  Brave  man  !"  replied  Giordano,  "  I  will  use  it  in  such 
way  as  to  correspond  worthliy  to  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  provided  for  me."     And  he  disappeared  in  the  thick- 
est of  the  fight. 
18* 


418  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

The  army  of  Charles,  repulsed  on  all  sides,  had  only  left 
on  the  field  the  knights  of  the  queen,  who,  resolved  to 
die  rather  than  retreat,  had  formed  themselves  into  a  hol- 
low square,  contesting  against  all  the  army  of  Manfred. 
Giordano  Lancia,  judging  it  unwise  that  all  the  forces  of 
the  king  should  be  occupied  against  that  handful  of  men 
that  were  gradually  being  destroyed  in  their  outer  lines ; 
fearing  also  that  those  that  had  been  dispersed  would  re- 
organize and  return  to  the  assault,  called  Ghino  and 
d'Angalone,  and  ordered  them  to  detach  their  squad- 
rons, and  pursue  relentlessly  the  retreating  French ;  he 
would  remain  there  to  destroy  that  last  residue  of  the 
army  of  Charles.  They  obeyed  the  order,  and  with  loos- 
ened bridle  galloped  after  the  fugitives,  killing  both  those 
who  resisted  and  those  who  surrendered,  granting  quar- 
ter to  none.  Every  mercy  was  extinct;  the  fierce 
slaughter  saddened  even  the  sight  of  the  conquerors  them- 
selves. 

"£on  Dieu  !  I  cannot  stand  that  sight,"  cries  Charles, 
who,  from  the  summit  of  the  hill  called  the  Stone  of 
Rcsetto  contemplated  that  slaughter  ;  "  my  spear,  squires, 
.  .  .  my  horse ;  .  .  .  here,  quick,  to  the  rescue ! " 

"  Fair  cousin,"  holding  him  back  exclaims  Guy  de 
Montfort,  "  be  still  for  Saint  Martin,  let  him  win  yet  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  arid  then  the  victory  will  be  ours.  .  ." 

"  But  I  will  not  allow  ..."  . 

"  And  I  swear  to  you  by  the  soul  of  my  father  that  I 
will  have  you  arrested  ;  ...  be  patient !  " 

The  Germans,  in  spite  of  d'Angalone' s  remonstrances, 
attracted  by  the  greediness  of  gain,  broke  the  ranks,  as  if 
sure  of  the  victory,  and  disbanded  here  and  there  for 
plunder.  The  horses  wandered  loose,  for  the  knights,  hav- 
ing dismounted,  began  to  search  in  the  pockets  of  the 
dead  and  dying,  to  snatch  the  precious  ornaments  from 
the  armors,  using  their  swords  for  a  lever.  Some,  stretch- 
ing their  rapacious  hands  on  the  corpses,  tore  violently 
either  cloth  or  leather  that  suited  their  wants,  carrying 
sometimes  part  of  the  skin  with  it ;  others  also,  unable  to 
pull  off  the  rings  from  the  dead  men's  fingers,  cut  them 
clo'se  to  the  hand,  and  placed  ring  and  fingers. in  their 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  419 

pockets, — so  disgustingly  does  human  rapacity  shows  it- 
self. At  this  moment  Ghino  and  d'Angalone  beating  the 
rascals  with  the  butts  of  their  spears,  "  To  horse,  scound- 
rels ?  "  they  exclaim,  "  to  horse  ! "  The  beaten  ones,  in- 
tent on  booty,  either  felt  not  the  blows,  or,  running  further 
on,  shook  their  shoulders,  and  returned  to  the  plunder 
worse  than  before. 

"  Now  is  the  time  to  descend,  cousin,"  said  Montfort ; 
and  Charles  mounting  on  horseback,  thus  spoke  to  his 
knights  :  "  Follow  me,  noble  barons ;  you  will  see  my 
crest  where  there  will  be  more  glory  to  reap.  You, 
Guido  Guerra,  remind  your  Florentines  that,  conquering 
at  Benevento,  they  will  regain  their  desired  Florence." 
And  he  rushed  to  the  plain. 

A  courier  despatched  by  Count  Lancia  presents  him- 
self to  Manfred,  and  says  :  "  My  lord  the  king,  we  have 
conquered." 

The  king,  raising  his  eyes  to  Heaven  with  a  spontane- 
ous thought  of  thanking  God  for  it,  noticed  the  French 
reserve,  that,  coming  down  the  declivity  of  the  hill  of  Ro- 
setto,  was  fast  approaching  the  plain,  and  orders  the 
courier  :  "  Go,  quick,  return  to  Giordano,  and  tell  him  to 
be  on  his  guard,  for  we  have  not  conquered  yet." 

Then  he  stood  fixed,  contemplating  the  squadron  of  the 
Guelphs,  and  judging  them,  as  they  really  were  excellent 
soldiers,  asked  who  were  they.  They  told  him  the  Guelphs 
of  Florence.  It  is  said  that  he  remarked  at  this  news  : 
"  Now,  why  have  we  not  the  aid  of  the  Ghibellines, 
whom  we  have  supported  all  over  Italy  with  so  much 
blood  and  treasure?"  And  more  enraptured  by  the 
sight  of  that  battalion  that  moved  with  such  admirable 
order:  "Indeed,  those  troops  cannot  lose  to-day!"  he 
said ;  meaning  by  this  that,  if  he  should  win,  he  would 
have  them  taken  in  his  pay,  and  restored  to  their  state. 

"  To  horse,  rascals  !  to  horse  !  Behold  the  enemy  !  " 
kept  crying  Ghino  and  Giordano ;  but  the  ProvenQals, 
galloping  at  full  speed,  were  already  on  them.  The  Ger- 
mans and  the  Italians,  leaving,  though  unwillingly,  their 
plunder,  rose  to  oppose  them  ;  their  horses,  feeding  about, 
had  got  away,  and  in  the  sudden  panic  many  lost  theirs, 


420  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

and  had  to  seize  the  first  that  came  to  hand.  Hardly 
had  they  reformed  their  squadrons  when  the  French  fell 
upon  them  with  most  impetuous  fury,  and  repulsed  them 
some  forty  steps.  Then  the  Germans  made  a  stand. 
The  space  which  divided  them  was  spread  with  corpses  ; 
the  French  wavered,  abhorring  to  trample  on  the  bodies 
of  their  fallen  brothers.  Charles,  fearing  that  from  that 
hesitation  the  enemy  might  take  time  to  reorganize  his 
ranks,  and  perhaps  jeopardize  the  success  of  the  battle, 
exclaims  :  "  Come,  knights,  don't  mind  trampling  upon 
them  ;  those  dead  brothers  of  ours  will  be  happy  to  offer 
us  their  breasts  as  a  path  to  victory.  "  Monjoy  /  Mori- 
joy  !  "  And  he  was  the  first  to  gallop  over  them. 

"  Steady  !  forward  !  will  you  fly  from  those  you  have 
already  defeated  ?  Manfred  is  watching  us  ;  victory  or 
death  !  Swabia  !  Swabia  /"  Ghino  and  Giordano  might 
cry  themselves  hoarse,  the  soldiers  advanced  unwillingly, 
a  panic  had  seized  them.  Montfort  rushed  about,  fiercer 
than  the  others  ;  mounted  upon  a  powerful  Norman  horse, 
striking  right  and  left  with  his  iron  mace,  belaboring  ter- 
ribly the  people  of  Manfred.  Ghino  noticed  him,  and 
recognized  him  from  his  shield,  for,  after  the  tournament 
of  Rome,  he  had  laid  aside  the  device  of  Italy  reversed, 
and  resumed  that  of  his  family,  which  bore  argent,  three 
ancient  chairs  gules.  The  good  Tuscan  could  stand  no 
longer  the  slaughter  that  he  made  of  his  men  ;  seizing 
therefore  a  lance  from  one  of  them,  and  placing  it  in  rest, 
he  rushed  upon  Montfort,  crying  :  "  En  garde,  for  you  are 
a  dead  man." 

Montfort  avoided  the  lance,  and  when  Ghino  had  passed 
by  him,  flung  his  mace  at  him,  but  missed  the  blow. 
Ghino,  lowering  again  his  lance,  galloped  against  Mont- 
fort ;  this  latter,  with  a  bold  face  and  trembling  heart,  en- 
deavored to  defend  himself,  when  one  of  his  esquires 
rushed  at  Ghino's  back,  and  threw  a  javelin,  which,  pass- 
ing through  where  the  shoulder-piece  joins  to  the  back, 
hurled  him  from  his  horse  to  the  ground,  mortally  wounded. 

"  Truly,  Raul,"  said  Montfort,  smiling  to  his  esquire, 
"  the  knight  you  have  killed  was  a  brave  man,  nor  de- 
served to  die  treacherously  ;  nevertheless,  it  is  well  for 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  421 

you,  for  a  dead  man  wars  no  more,  and  the  smell  of  a 
dead  enemy  is  a  perfume  of  roses."  Saying  which,  he 
spurred  his  horse  upon  him,  who,  less'  brutal  than  his 
master,  disdained  to  trample  upon  the  fallen,  and  leaped 
clear  over  him. — Fool !  He  knew  not  that  the  heavens 
reserved  for  him  a  death  a  thousand  times  more  miserable. 
It  is  to  be  believed  that  Providence,  which  caused  his 
great-grandfather,  Simon  Montfort,  to  die  of  a  stone  fallen 
on  his  head  at  the  siege  of  Tolosa,  his  grandfather  Al- 
mericus  of  a  dart  in  his  loins  und?r  Tolemaides,  and  his 
father  Simon  of  honorable  wounds,  defending  the  liberty 
of  the  English  against  King  Henry,  forbade  to  Guy,  in 
punishment  of  his  barbarity,  the  glory  of  falling  upon  the 
field  of  battle,  now  hereditary  in  his  family.  Having 
been  taken  prisoner  in  the  naval  battle  fought  between 
the  Sicilians  and  Neapolitans  in  the  Gulf  of  Naples  in 
1287,  he  ended  in  the  squalor  of  a  Sicilian  prison  a  life 
which  he  had  illustrated  with  famous  deeds  of  arms,  and 
contaminated  with  ferocious  crimes. 

Count  Giordano  d' Angalone  saw  that  fall,  and  a  mourn- 
ful foreboding  filled  his  soul ;  yet,  resolved  not  to  return 
defeated  whence  he  had  departed  as  a  victor,  finding  him- 
self near  the  squadron  of  the  Guelphs,  he  rushed  in  the 
midst  of  it,  desirous  of  a  noble  death.  Opening  his  way 
impetuously,  he  felled  many  right  and  left  till  he  reached 
the  standard-bearer,  Corrado  da  Montemagno  of  Pistoja ; 
he  seized  the  battle-flag  with  his  left,  while  with  his  right 
he  used  his  sword.  Corrado  in  his  turn  held  fast  to  it, 
defending  himself.  The  Paladins,  for  thus  they  were 
called,  as  we  noticed  in  a  previous  chapter,  the  twelve 
Guelphs  who  killed  Tacha  of  Modena,  surrounded  Anga- 
lone, and  wounded  him  mortally  in  several  places.  The 
brave  knight  heeded  them  not,  and  continued  his  fight 
with  the  standard-bearer,  who,  assailed  by  a  stronger 
man,  wounded  also  in  many  parts,  let  himself  fall  from 
the  saddle  almost  at  the  same  moment  that  d' Angalone 
also  fell  expiring,  wrapped  in  the  lily  of  Florence.  Atro- 
cious was  the  hatred  of  the  Italian  party-men  in  those 
times,  and  atrocious  the  deeds  committed  by  them ; 
brothers  fought  against  brothers,  sons  against  their  fathers 


422  The  Battle  of  Benevento! 

(which  made  Shakspeare  cry,  "  a  plague  on  both  your 
houses ")  ;  hence,  it  is  not  without  emotion  that  I  find 
related  in  my  chronicle,  that  the  Guelphs,  after  ihe  bat- 
tle, gave  an  honorable  interment  to  Count  d'Angalone, 
burying  him  in  the  same  grave  with  Corrado  di  Monte- 
magno,  and  placed  a  cross  over  it,  bearing  on  its  right 
arm  the  name  of  Giordano,  and  on  the  left  that  of  Cor- 
rado, and  begging  a  requiem  to  the  souls  of  these  two 
brave  knights  killed  on  the  field  of  battle. 

The  captains  being  aead,  there  was  no  way  of  stopping 
the  flight.  There  was  seen  nothing  but  a  running  through 
the  country,  and  nothing  heard  but  "  Sauve  qui  pent." 
Retreating  in  this  manner,  they  arrived  where  Giordano 
Lancia,  having  defeated  the  knights  of  the  queen,  was 
reorganizing  his  -soldiers  to  lead  them  to  the  rescue  of  the 
battle.  "  Behold  the  enemy  ! "  cried,  pale  with  fear, 
the  first  who  arrived.  "What  enemy?" — "The  Guelphs 
of  Florence,  the  French,  a  squadron  of  wild  demons." — 
"  Let  them  come  ;  we  are  here  to  fight  them." 

The  French,  arriving,  charge  with  great  valor  the  troops 
of  Lancia,  and  are  with  equal  bravery  repulsed  ;  they  re- 
form their  ranks,  return  to  the  charge,  .and  are  again  re- 
pulsed. The  third  charge  was  the  bloodiest.  Nor  because 
they  are  badly  cut  up,  do  they  desist,  but  they  attempt 
to  charge  the  fourth  time.  Infinite  the  blows  struck  and 
parried,  infinite  the  wounds,  infinite  the  deaths;  but  Lan- 
cia kept  crying  to  his  men,  "  Steady  !  "  and  these,  upheld 
by  the  example,  did  not  budge  an  inch.  Rogiero  fought 
in  the  front  ranks.  Manfred's  flag  stood  safe  in  his  hand 
as  upon  the  top  of  a  turret.  The  bravest  men  crowded 
around  it  with  terrible  impetus,  and  when  he  waved  it  to 
the  wind,  there  arose  a  cry  of  joy,  and  the  courage  of  the 
combatants  would  redouble. 

When  an  invading  army  charges  upon  the  enemy,  a 
repulse  is  equivalent  to  a  defeat.  Charles  felt  that  by  that 
obstinate  resistance  the  undertaking  would  fail.  But 
though  disheartened,  he  did  not  despair  :  rather,  by  reason 
of  the  danger  itself,  his  mind  more  eagerly  sought  the 
way  of  success.  Often  we  have  observed  that  man 
in  misfortune  becomes  wicked,  and  commits  acts 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  423 

that  he  never  would  have  thought  of  in  good  fortune. 
This  happened  in  the  present  case :  the  son  of  France 
had  recourse  to  fraud,  and  discarding  all  the  acknowledged 
laws  of  war  of  those  days,  intent  only  on  causing  the  great- 
est possible  injury  to  the  enemy,  he  ordered  to  strike  at  the 
horses.  This  was  against  the  convention  mutually  agreed 
upon  by  the  two  nations  at  war  upon  the  manner  of 
fighting ;  but  victory  absolves  every  sin  committed  to  ac- 
quire it,  and  if  Grotius  proclaimed  that  one  must  keep 
faith  with  his  enemies  and  cause  them  the  least  evil  pos- 
sible, we  believe  that  he  said  this  in  July,  but  would 
not  have  confirmed  it  in  January. 

The  order  of  Charles  was  quickly  passed  through  the 
ranks,  and  from  every  side  rose  the  cry :  "  The  rapier, 
the  rapier  Land  wound  the  horses"  It  was  immediately* 
executed.  The  front  ranks  of  Lancia,  before  they  had 
time  to  defend  themselves,  found  themselves  unhorsed  ;  • 
Lancia  himself  had  his  horse  killed  under  him ;  the 
unhorsed  ones  had  to  fall  in  disorder  upon  the  ranks 
that  stood  behind  them  ;  these  opened  to  save  them, 
only  in  doing  this  they  were  not  able  to  repulse  the 
enemy :  all  rushed  in  together.  French  prowess,  en- 
couraged by  the  hope  of  victory,  fought  with  redoubled 
energy.  The  soldiers  of  the  king  ii^hat  extreme  emer- 
gency did  not  fail  to  themselves ;  equal  was  the  bravery, 
but  the  conditions  were  unequal.  There  never  was  a  more 
bloody  battle,  nor  one  fought  with  more  courage,  either 
in  ancient  or  modern  times.  For  a  long  time  the  valley 
of  Sta.  Maria  della  Grandella  exhaled  pestiferous  vapors 
on  account  of  the  smell  which  the  unburjed  bodies  sent 
forth.  For  more  than  fifty  years  after,  the  white  bones 
scattered  through  the  fields  attested  with  what  rage 
thousands  of  victims  had  slaughtered  each  other  ;  and 
even  to  this  day  it  often  happens  that  the  cultivator, 
ploughing  the  earth,  is  suddenly  stopped  by  some  skele- 
ton which  comes  across  his  plough. 

Without  helmet  on  his  head,  with  his  hair  wet  with 
perspiration  and  blood,  wounded  in  the  face,  with  the 
royal  standard  in  his  left  hand  torn  to  shreds,  and  the 
sword  in  his  right  hacked  to  the  very  hilt,  Rogiero  presents 


424  The  Battle  of  Benevento. 

himself  to  Manfred,  and  cries  from  afar:  "To  the  rescue, 
my  king,  to  the  rescue  ! " 

"  What  means  this  ?  Are  the  cowards  abandoning  the 
field  ?  Where  is  Sir  Ghino  ?  " 

«  Dead  , .  ." 

"D'Angalone  ?" 

"  Dead  .  .  ." 

"  Vengeance  of  God  !  Barons,  to  the  rescue  !  follow 
your  king,  he  will  lead  you  to  glory  or  to  death ; "  and 
spurred  his  horse.  Hearing  a  very  faint  noise  behind 
him,  he  turned  his  head.  Perhaps  only  ten  knights  fol- 
lowed him  ;  the  remaining  ones,  to  the  number  of  one 
thousand  four  hundred  knights,  and  perhaps  four  thou- 
sand foot  soldiers,  did  not  stir. 

"  Come,  hasten,  to  the  rescue  !  delay  will  be  fatal," 
continues  Manfred.  The  same  impassibility  on  the  part 
of  his  feudal  nobles.  The  great  treachery  begins  to 
dawn  on  the  king's  mind,  his  heart  trembles.  "O 
my  faithful  barons,"  exclaims  he,  anxiously  approaching 
them,  "  onward  for  your  own  preservation,  for  that  of  your 
children.  ...  I  will  not  remind  you  of  my  benefits;  .  .  . 
think  of  your  honor,  consider  the  shame  .  .  ." 

"  We  consider  our  souls  ;  we  desire  absolution  from 
the  excommunicatio^*.  .  ." 

"  What  excuse  is  this  ?  Did  you  not  fight  with  me 
against  Pope  Alexander  ?  The  year  is  not  yet  passed 
that  you  in  armed  bands  performed  several  raids  in  the 
Roman  Campania.  Now,  I  don't  ask  you  to  invade 
other  people's  country,  but  to  defend  the  kingdom." 

"  The  kingdom  is  yours  ;  defend  it  yourself,  if  you 
can." 

"  Yes,  I  can,  if  assisted  by  your  valor  ;  accustomed 
as  you  are  to  fight  under  the  eagle  of  the  son  of 
Frederick,  you  will  not  abandon  him  in  the  midst  of 
victory  ;  fulfil  the  oath  of  fealty  that  you  swore  to  me  at 
Monreale  and  at  Benevento  ;  ah  !  let  Manfred  be  for  the 
second  time  indebted  to  you  for  the  throne." 

They  replied  to  him  only  by  sounding  their  trumpets 
in  retreat,  and  turning  their  backs  on  the  battle  ;  incredible 
treachery,  if  the  histories  of  the  times,  both  Guelph  and 


The  Battle  of  Benevento.  425 

Ghibelline,  did  not  relate  it.  The  Neapolitan  feudal 
barons,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Poles  in  their  ancient 
constitution,  mounted  on  horseback  when  the  kingdom 
was  in  danger,  and,  like  them,  formed  the  principal  or 
the  most  numerous  part  of  the  army.  Whoever  has  read 
the  history  of  Poland,  will  wonder  at  the  resemblance  be- 
tween the  Pospolitis  and  the  squadrons  of  the  Neapoli- 
tan barons ;  the  same  show  of  dress,  the  same  instability, 
the  same  manners ;  with  only  this  difference,  that  the  Poles 
defended  what  they,  supposed  liberty, — the  Neapolitans, 
the  monarchy.  Manfred,  who  doubted  their  good  faith, 
had  placed  them  under  his  immediate  orders,  trusting  that 
his  personal  authority  would  have  curbed  their  insincerity. 
He  now  perceived  how  they  answered  his  hopes  ;  he  con- 
templated them  a  few  moments,  staggered  by  the  unheard- 
of  cowardice  ;  finally  he  broke  forth  with  this  exclama- 
tion :  "  Fool  that  I  was  !  and  I  begged  them  ! "  Then 
he  raised  his  hand  in  the  act  of  imprecating :  "  No,  .  .  . 
you  do  not  deserve  even  my  imprecation,  I  condemn  you 
to  live !  .  .  .  fortunate  I  am,  in  that  my  glory  and  re- 
nown are  not  in  their  power,  like  my  throne."  He  turned 
his  horse,  and  with  his  voice  and  spurs  urged  him  to  a 
gallop.  At  that  moment  there  happened  a  wonderful 
event :  the  silver  eagle  that  he  had  for  a  crest  fell  on  the 
pommel  of  his  saddle.  .  .  .  He  turned  pale  at  the  fatal 
augury,  saying  :  "  Hoc  est  signum  Dei,  for  I  had  fixed 
this  crest  with  my  own  hands,  so  that  it  could  not  fall." 

He  gathered  all  his  powers  ;  and,  since  he  could  not 
live  as  a  king,  he  rushed  into  the  thickest  of  the  battle  to 
die  as  a  king. 


426 


The  Revenge. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE   REVENGE. 

Un'  alma  coronata  si  diparte, 

E  lascia  qui  del  suo  gran  nome  un  ombra. 

O  del  mondo  vivente,  o  del  noil  nato 

Occhi  pietosi,  nella  morte  sua 

Osservate,  apprendete 

D'un  gran  regno  che  cade  e  d'un  che  nasce 

La  vicenda  solenne.  .  .  . 

CLEOPATRA,  Tragedia  Antica. 

A  crowned  soul  departs, 

And  leaves  of  his  great  name  the  shadow  here. 
O  pious  eyes,  now  living  or  unborn, 
Look  on,  and  from  his  death  the  lesson  learn, 
How  a  great  kingdom  falls,  and  one  uprises 
In  solemn  revolution. 

M.  G.  M. 

F  it  was  pity  that  shrouded  the  rays  of  the  stars 
in  the  firmament  the  last  night  of  February,  1265, 
and  prevented  their  shining  upon  that  wicked 
field,  why  does  every  day  the  sun  issue  forth 
from  the  east  to  illuminate  deeds  that  night  has  no  dark- 
ness deep  enough  to  hide  ?  A  heavy,  thick,  foggy 
atmosphere  covers  the  valley  of  Santa  Maria  della  Gran- 
della  ;  to  the  noise  of  the  striking  weapons,  to  the  glit- 
tering of  •swords,  to  the  cries  of  threats  and  mercy, 
silence  has  succeeded — silence  and  darkness,  mournful 
companions  of  death  !  Only  here  and  there  a  sigh  of  a 
dying  man,  a  calling  of  father  or  son  by  some  agonized 
sufferer.  Eut  these  groanings  sounded  feeble  as  the  breath 
of  the  evening  breeze  thai  hardly  stirs  the  leaves  on  the 
trees,  and  passes  by ;  they  disturb  not  that  solemn  still- 
ness. All  is  war  in  this  world  ;  yet  the  wild  beast  de- 
vours, but  hides  again  in  the  thickest  of  the  wood.  We 
(J  know  not  whether  more  foolish  or  perverse)  dare  to 
boast  of  the  slaughter,  and  call  it  victory,  and  give  thanks 
to  the  Most  High  for  it,  as  if  to  associate  Him  with  our 


The  Revenge.  427 

crimes.  The  dew  of  Heaven  falls  equally  sorrowfully 
upon  the  bodies  of  the  Apulians  and  the  Provenqals  ; 
and,  for  my  part,  when  I  consider  that  the  dew  begins 
and  ends  a  day,  I  imagine  to  myself  nature  weeping  over 
the  unhappy  race  of  Adam.  They  have  all  abandoned 
the  fallen  ones  upon  the  field  ;  the  defeated  ones  are 
seeking  with  the  anxiety  of  terror  an  asylum  for  the  life 
which  they  have  saved  from  the  enemy's  sword  ;  the  con-' 
querors  are  busy,  drinking  in  wine-cups  forgetfulness  of 
the  wounded  brothers  ;  in  the  morn  they  will  pray  for 
their  rest,  and  will  bury  them  ;  but  in  the  meanwhile,  dead 
with  the  dead,  they  think  only  of  pleasure. 

A  man  wrapped  in  a  black  cloak  comes  down  from  the 
hill  of  the  Stone  of  Rosetto,  and  turns  his  steps  to  the 
plain  of  Santa  Maria  ;  a  big  mastiff  precedes  him,  carry- 
ing in  his  mouth  a  lantern  to  light  the  way.  His  dress  is 
that  of  a  holy  friar,  his  face  almost  entirely  hidden  within 
his  hood  ;  yet,  from  that  little  which  is  visible,  you  would 
take  him  for  the  evil  spirit  who  comes  to  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  his  temptation.  With  his  arms  crossed  over  his  breast, 
but  without  reciting  any  prayers,  he  passes  among  the 
dead,  looks  at  them,  tramples  over  them,  and  keeps  on. 
He  had  searched  more  than  an  hour  over  the  bloody  field, 
when  he  broke  forth  wearily  :  "  Surely  they  swore  to  me 
he  was  dead  !"  He  rested  a  while*,  then  continued  his 
search.  There,  where  the  slaughter  had  been  the  greatest, 
in  the  midst  of  a  heap  of  corpses  horribly  mutilated, 
pressing  with  his  foot  the  head  of  a  fallen  one,  he  heard  a 
feeble  groan. 

"  Of  little  chanty  !  Are  you  a  Christian  ?  a  friar  of  the 
Lord  !  and  trample  on  the  head  of  the  dying  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Is  my  hope  deceiving  me  ?  Tell  me 
who  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  dying  man."  . 

The  monk  hid  his  face  still  more  within  the  hood,  took 
the  lantern  from  the  mouth  of  the  dog,  held  it  near 
the  face  of  the  fallen  one,  and  "  You  are  Manfred  ! "  he 
cried  with  savage  joy. 

"  I  was  Manfred ;  now,  I  am  a  man  who  is  dying.     Oh ! 


428  The  Revenge. 

if  before  appearing  before  the  tribunal  of  God.  you  would 
in  charity,  holy  brother  .  .  ." 

"Speak,  king  of  the  earth  ;  I  rejoice  in  listening  to  you." 

"  Heaven  has  sent  you  to  me,  .  .  .  but  call  me  not 
a  king ;  the  crown  which  I  obtained  with  crimes,  the 
Eternal  has  taken  away  with  death.  Will  you  listen  to 
my  confession  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  sacred  duty  ;  yet  how  do  you  hope  to  appease 
divine  justice  ?  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  heard  that  the  greatest  crime  committed  by 
Cain  was  to  despair  of  God's  mercy.  .  .  .  Leave  the  care  of 
forgiveness  to  Him  who  has  the  power;  ...  do  you  listen. 
...  I  will  take  you  back  in  the  bitterness  of  my  soul 
through  all  my  years,  I  will  confess  my  sins  before  you, 
and  God's  mercy  will  absolve  me  through  you." 

The  monk  sat  upon  the  ground,  signed  him  with  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  whispered  an  orison,  then  said : 
"  Speak,  king  ;  I  am  ready." 

"  Father,  holy  father,  I  am  about  accusing  myself  of  a 
crime  that  my  heart  breaks  in  thinking  of." 

"  Have  faith  ;  you  begin  already  to  distrust  ?  " 

"  No,  I  hope  in  God's  mercy.  By  my  hands  was  shed 
that  blood  upon  which,  slipping,  I  now  lie  forever  ;  my 
throne,  weighed  down  by  a  nefarious  death,  has  fallen  in 
ruins  over  my  head,  csushing  my  family  with  me.  .  .  .  You 
see  in  me,  .  .  .  you  will  be  horror  struck,  but  in  the  name 
of  God,  do  not  fly  from  me,  .  .  .  you  see  in  Manfred  the 
assassin  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  .  .  ." 

"  You  a  parricide  ?  " 

"  A  parricide  ! "  and  for  a  long  time  they  both  re- 
mained silent.  Then  Manfred  resumed  :  "  Speak  not, 
holy  father  ;  you  could  not  say  a  word  but  my  conscience 
has  repeated  it  to  me  a  thousand  times,  nor  could 
your  reproaches  sting  me  mgre  severely  than  it  has 
done.  ...  If  remorse  can  expiate  sin  ...  oh  !  mine  was 
terrible,  but  likewise  has  been  my  remorse.  It  was  on 
the  night  of  the  i3th  of  December;  the  emperor  was 
lying  ill,  ...  in  his  last  illness.  ...  I  was  sitting  near  his 
bed  ;  .  .  .  the  imperial  mantle  and  crown  stood  upon  a 
table  a  little  away  from  me ;  .  .  .  the  evil  spirit  tempted 


The  Revenge.  429 

me ;  my  eyes  rested  on  the  crown ;  I  thought  of  the 
power,  I  thought  of  conquest.  ...  I  pictured  to  myself 
kings  and  countries  conquered  at  the  foot  of  my  throne  ; 
.  .  .  looking  forward  to  future  ages,  every  century  seemed 
to  me  to  be  luminous  with  my  fame  ;  .  .  .  the  morfe  I 
gazed  at  the  jewels  that  adorned  it,  the  more  they 
seemed  to  shine.  ...  I  stretched  my  hand  to  seize  it ;  ... 
ah  !  I  drew  it  back  in  the  very  act.  .  .  .  Although  I  stood 
between  Frederick  and  the  diadem,  yet  the  life  of  Fred- 
erick stood  between  me  and  the  crown  ;  my  soul  was  dark- 
ened ;  I  looked  on  my  father  ;  he  slept ;  only  the  faintest 
breathing  indicated  that  he  was  alive  ;  .  .  .  a  few  days, 
a  few  hours,  might  end  his  precarious  existence :  .  .  . 
but  the  glitter  of  the  diadem  flattered  me  more  fiercely 
than  before.  .  .  .  After  an  hour  of  meditation,  parricide 
did  not  appear  to  me  so  horrible ;  .  .  .  life  was  extin- 
guishing itself,  ...  it  was  only  hastening  it  a  few  hours ; 
.  .  .  glory  and  power  dazzled  me  like  two  suns  ;  .  .  .  the 
crime  seemed  to  me  like  a  little  cloud  in  a  serene  sky 
...  I  did  not  see  God,  for  rny  heart  was  hardened ;  .  .  . 
the  tempter  conquered  ;  .  .  .  I  seized  a  pillow  from  under 
his  head,  .  .  .  placed  it  over  his  face,  .  .  .  pressed  it  thus 
with  my  hands  only  a  few  seconds.  ...  It  was  over  !  .  .  ." 
Manfred,  overcome  by  the  terrible  recollection,  fell  back 
as  in  a  swoon  ;  very  little  life  now  remained  to  him,  and 
yet  the  most  bitter  grief  that  he  had  ever  suffered  was 
afflicting  him  in  these  last  hours.  Hardly  come  to  himself 
again,  he  stretched  his  hands,  groping  about,  and  not 
meeting  the  object  he  sought  for,  he  broke  forth  :  "Alas  ! 
the  confessor  is  fled ;  .  .  .  my  narrative  has  driven  him 
away  .  .  ." 

"  I  have  not  moved,  I  am  at  your  side,  O  king,"  re- 
plied the  monk  with  a  stifled  voice. 
"  Has  not  your  hair  stood  on  end  ?  " 
"  Go  on  confessing  your  greatest  sins  .  .  ." 
"  Greatest !     Does  not  parricide  terrify  you,  father  ?" 
"  There  is  no  crime  in  the  world  that  could  retard  or 
accelerate  for  one  moment  the  pulsations  of  my  heart ; .  .  . 
go  on,  king,  go  on  in  your  confession." 

"  Have  not  the  teachings  of  the  gospel  softened  your 


430  The  Revenge. 

heart,  then?  Is  not  Manfred  confessing  his  sins,  O 
friar?" 

"  I  came  to  this  world  an  innocent  soul ;  my  mother 
rejoiced  in  the  gentle  boy,  my  father  showered  his  favors 
on*  me  for  my  virtuous  deeds ;  in  the  happy  dawn  of  my 
days  I  loved  every  created  being, — the  good  because  good, 
the  bad  because  he  might  become  good ;  a  coward 
poisoned  my  life,  thrust  me  into  the  path  of  perdition.  I 
have  gone  over  it ;  only  a  demon  could  listen  to  your 
confession,  and  you,  O  king,  have  made  me  such  .  .  ." 

"  Your  words  .  .  .  your  fury  I  .  ." 

"  Give  me  back  my  innocence,  .  .  .  my  innocence.  .  .  . 
I  am  Caserta  :  look  upon  my  countenance,  worn  out  by 
grief:  my  sins  are  yours  ;  .  .  .  they  will  be  punished  in  me, 
but  justice  will  add  them  also  to  your  punishments." 

"  Go,  in  God's  name,  go." 

"  Go !  why  ?  Have  I  not  come  to  your  death  as  to 
a  nuptial  banquet  ?  " 

"  I  am  dying  .  .  ." 

"  And  is  it  not  now  twenty  years  and  more  that  I  have 
lived  for  this  your  last  agony  ?  " 

"Go,  I  conjure  you." 

"By  whom  will  you  conjure  me?  by  God's  name  ?  I 
have  denied  Him  for  you.  By  the  love  of  my  wife  ?  You 
have  contaminated  her.  By  my  children  ?  Through  you 
I  was  a  father,  but  not  of  a  son  of  mine.  Cease  then  to 
conjure  me,  O  king."  * 

"  The  powers  of  hell  disappear  at  the  sign  of  the  cross  : 
will  not  man  cease  to  torment  at  the  prayers  of  the 
dying." 

"  No : — allow  me  rather,  O  king,  that  I  should  sit  and 
enjoy ,the  convulsions  of  your  agony." 

"  But  go,  cruel  man  !  let  me  die  in  peace." 

"  No. — You  have  filled  a  cup  of  despair ;  now  forbid 
me  not,  O  king,  to  exult  in  putting  it  to  your  lips.': 

"  Your  conscience  .  .  ." 

"  My  conscience  !  have  I  not  told  you  that  it  would 
frighten  even  Satan  himself?  have  I  not  told  you  that  it 
is  your  work  ?  " 

"  Traitor  !  .  .  ." 


The  Revenge.  431 

"  Be  silent,  guilty  being.  Was  it  not  you  that,  affecting 
friendship,  robbed  me  of  the  love  of  her,  whom  I  loved 
with  intense  passion  ?  You  were  the  traitor,  when,  drunk 
with  power,  you  loaded  my  head  with  infamy :  beware, 
degraded  creature,  of  uttering  a  sigh  ;  or,  if  in  the  fury  that 
torments  you,  you  feel  the  need  of  cursing — curse  your- 
self ; — I  have  accomplished  your  destruction,  and  now  I 
trample  upon  you." 

"If  the  voice  of  the  king,  although  rising  from  the 
dust,  would  deign  to  appeal  to  any  other  judge  but  God, 
it  would  say  to  you,  that  before  Lady  Spina  was  dragged 
by  force  before  the  altar,  she  loved  me,  and  had  accepted 
me  as  her  beloved  husband  .  .  ." 

"  She  loved  you,  .  .  .  and  she  was  punished  .  .  ." 

"  Did  she  not  die  in  the  fire  of  the  castle  ?  " 

"  I  killed  her  .  .  ." 

"  Ah  !  may  God  forgive  you." 

"  And  I  poured  my  sin  upon  your  head." 

"  She  will  not  accuse  me  :  . .  .  our  love  was  mutual  .  .  . 
she  was  mine  !  .  .  .  that  sin  weighs  not  on  my  conscience, 
.  .  for  the  others  the  Lord  will  have  mercy  on  my  soul  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  too  late;  you  cannot  repent  of  sin  on  the  thres- 
hold of  death :  do  you  not  remember  what  is  written  in 
the  Scripture  ?  " 

"  I  remember  that  my  sins  were  horrible,  but  infinite 
goodness  hath  large  embrace  for  every  one  that  asks  for 
pardon  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  written  :  '  I  have  called,  and  ye  refused :  I 
have  stretched  out  my  hand,  and  ye  have  not  regarded  ; 
you  have  set  at  nought  all  my  counsels,  and  would  none 
of  my  reproof :  I  also  will  laugh  at  your  calamity,  I  will 
mock  when  your  fear  cometh.'  " 

"  But  it  is  also  written  :  '  The  earth  is  full  of  the  mercy 
of  the  Lord  ;  He  will  save  His  creatures  with  mercy,  not 
with  justice.'  " 

"  Your  measure  is  full, — you  are  lost, — I  tell  you,  you 
hope  in  vain."' 

"  You  hope  in  vain,  if  you  believe  you  can  make  me 
despair  in  these  last  moments  when  a  sincere  faith  rejoices 
me  with  hopes.  .  .  .  Do  you  hear  the  whispers  of  your 


432  The  Revenge. 

passions  ?     They  will  tell  you  that  whilst  you  think  of 
tormenting,  you  yourself  are  the  tormented.  .  ." 

"Certainly,  it  is  I  who  in  this  moment  see  the  tombs 
open  and  the  souls  of  the  father,  the  brothers,  and  sons 
killed  by  me,  arise  to  surround  my  death-bed  ; — I  who 
hear  their  mocking  accents,  I,  the  laughter  with  which  they 
accompany  my  death ;  ...  for  you  there  will  descend  the 
angels  from  heaven  to  bring  you  peace  ;  for  you  there 
darts  from  the  throne  of  the  omnipotent  a  ray  of  glory 
upon  which  your  blessed  soul  will  ascend  to  celestial 
joys.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  guilty  wretch,  what  atonement  in  the 
day  of  judgment  will  you  set  against  the  murder  of  your 
father  ? 

'  My  repentance  .  .  ." 
'  To  that  of  Corrado  ?  " 
'  My  repentance  .  .  ." 
'  To  that  of  your  son  .  .  ." 
'  What  son  ?  " 

At  a  short  distance  there  is  heard  a  plaintive  voice 
murmuring,  "  Yole  !  "  Caserta  starts  to  his  feet,  notices 
a  dying  man,  lifts  him  by  the  arm,  and  without  any  respect 
for  the  sacred  hour  during  which  man  called  to  the 
other  life  strives  for  awhile  against  the  power  of  extinc- 
tion, he  drags  him  where  Manfred  lies,  and  throwing 
him  into  his  arms  howls  ferociously :  "  Behold  your 
son  !  .  .  .  oh  !  my  revenge  is  now  full."  Then  he  sat 
down  again,  and  turned  the  light  of  the  lantern  upon 
those  faces  to  contemplate  their  expression. 

Manfred  recognized  the  dying  man,  threw  his  arms 
around  him,  and  pressing  him  to  his  heart,  exclaimed 
painfully  :  "  O  Rogiero  !  O  iny  son  !  ah,  my  heart  had 
told  me ;  .  .  .  how  do  I  see  you,  Rogiero  ! " 

The  unhappy  youth,  hardly  able  to  open  his  eyes,  asks : 
"  Where  have  they  dragged  me  ?  " 

"  To  the  arms  of  a  king,  ...  to  the  arms  of  a  father!" 
replies  Caserta. 

"  Father  ! — king  ! — who  is  my  father?  You,-  perhaps; 
Manfred  ! " 

"  Ah  misery !  to  the  son  of  guilt,  an  embrace  of 
blood  1 " 


The  Revenge.  433 

"  Obscurity  and  grief  saddened  my  years  ;  .  .  .  I  lived  a 
life  of  tears  ;  .  .  .  crimes,  sorrow,  remorse.  .  .  .  Oh  !  all  is 
compensated  by  the  sweetness  of  this  embrace.  ...  I 
bless  life  !  .  .  ." 

"  Rejoice  in  the  arms  of  a  father  whom  you  have  be- 
trayed, .  .  .  rejoice  in  a  parricide  father  !  " 

"  Whose  voice  is  this,  father  ?  It  grates  painfully  on 
my  wounds  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  a  slave  who  insults  the  death  of 
his  master  .  .  ." 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  Caserta ;  do  you  not  recognize  it, 
Rogiero  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  as  a  wretch  ;  but  beware  :  short  is  the  joy 
that  springs  from  the  tears  of  others  ;  ...  an  awful  destiny 
awaits  you,  Rinaldo;  .  .  .you  shake  your  head  in  derision? 
From  the  depth  of  the  misery  where  your  perfidy  has  cast 
us,  I  contemplate  your  end,  and  I  seem  to  sit  upon  a 
throne  of  glory.  .  .  .  Alas  !  my  words  fail  to  my  lips ;  .  .  . 
father,  is  Yole  safe  ?  " 

"  She  is  safe." 

"  No,  she  is  a  prisoner." 

"He  said  a  prisoner.  .  .  .  To  whom  did  you  intrust 
die  unhappy  one?" 

"  Do  you  not  remember  ?     To  Procida." 

"  Then  bite  your  tongue ;  .  .  .  serpent,  she  is  safe. 
Father,  I  am  dying  .  .  ." 

"  O  my  son  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  weep  ?  I  see  death  with  the  same  joy 
with  which  I  saw  you,  O  my  betrayed  father  ;  .  .  .  my  ex- 
istence has  been  a  torture,  .  .  .  it  is  a  blessing  to  end  it.  ... 
The  blood  of  my  mother  was  my  baptismal  water,  ...  oil 
of  extreme  unction  is  the  blood  of  my  father.  .  .  .  Has 
there  ever  lived  a  soul  in  the  world  more  miserable 
than  I  ?  " 

"  O  my  son  ! " 

"  Hold  me  fast  to  your  heart,  .  .  .  give  me  your  hand, 
.  .  .  father ;  .  .  .  I  am  going  to  the  reward  of  misfortune." 

He  lifted  the  paternal  hand  to  his  mouth  and  kissed  it, 
then  tried  to  place  it  over  his  head ;  falling  back  in  the 
act,  and  uttering  a  groan,  Rogiero  expired. 


434  The  Revenge. 

Who  could  blame  me,  if,  as  Timantis  covered  with  a 
veil  the  face  of  Agamemnon,  I  should  pass  over  without 
describing  the  sensations  that  agitated  Manfred  ?  Who 
could  do  this  ?  Who  could  even  attempt  it  ?  I  say 
naught  of  the  time  that  intervened  between  the  death  of 
Rogiero  and  those  words  that  the  king  spoke.  "  My  death 
will  not  be  so  peaceful,  yet  I  hasten  it  with  my  desire, . . . 
and  feel  that  it  is  approaching.  Rinaldo,  on  the  point  of 
appearing  before  the  tribunal  of  the  Eternal,  I  desire  not 
to  leave  an  object  of  hatred  upon  the  earth ;  .  .  .  needing 
God's  forgiveness,  I  give  you  mine  ;  .  .  .  you  see  before 
you  whether  you  have  offended  me  ;  . .  .  forgive  then  ; .  . . 
let  our  mutual  love  be  a  merit  toward  repentance  ; . . .  take 
my  hand  before  it  is  cold  with  death  . . ." 

"  Touch  me  not.  I  came  to  see  you  die,  not  to  for- 
give." 

"  Ah !  .  .  .  I  die,  .  .  .  and  forgive  you  .  .  ." 

"  I  live  and  hate  you." 

Manfred  drooped  down,  and  before  long  he  began  to 
sigh  convulsively,  and  at  intervals  gasp  the  following 
broken  sentences  :  "  Speak  to  me  not  so  mildly  ;  .  .  .  oh  ! 
show  yourself  not  to  me  so  lovingly  ; .  .  .  call  me  parricide 
.  . .  reproach  me  bitterly,  O  father.  .  .  .  What  do  you,  Cor- 
rado  ?  why  do  you  wipe  my  forehead  ?  your  linen  has  become 
red  ;  .  .  .  there  was  blood  in  it  ...  it  is  yours  ...  oh  !  he 
kisses  me  where  there  was  his  blood  .  .  .  blessed  be  you 
of  the  Lord  .  .  .  the  kingdom  of  heaven  .  .  .  my  soul  .  .  . 
the  joy  of  heaven  .  .  .  Lord  have  mercy  on  my  sinful  soul." 

Count  Caserta,  intently  bending  over  the  face  of  Man- 
fred to  note  every  sigh,  every  agitation  of  the  muscles, 
every  slightest  contortion  of  his  lips,  when  he  saw  him 
dead,  rose  impetuously,  and,  throwing  away  the  lantern, 
ran  precipitously  through  the  field  of  battle  :  often  he 
stumbled  against  a  dead  body,  often  hitting  against  some 
fallen  weapon,  wounded  himself;  he  seemed  not  to  feel 
anything,  with  his  cheeks  sunk,  his  fists  clenched,  he 
ground  his  teeth,  uttering  fearful  oaths,  often  striking  his 
head  and  face,  howling  :  "  He  is  dead, — and  did  not  de- 
spair." 


The  Revenge.  435 

Here  ends  our  chronicle  :  only  that,  as  it  is  the  custom 
with  novelists  to  accompany  their  heroes  to  the  altar,  or' 
to  the  grave,  it  behooves  me,  since  I  cannot  lead  them 
to  the  first,  to  follow  them  to  the  second.  Speaking 
therefore  first  of  Charles  d'Anjou,  Count  of  Provence,  I 
find  in  the  histories  that  after  the  battle  of  Benevento,  he 
occupied  without  much  opposition  the  Neapolitan  States, 
and  with  no  less  fortune  he  conquered  the  island  of  Sicily  . ' 
how  he  ruled,  why  his  power  in  Italy  declined,  how  it 
ceased,  I  will  not  relate,  for  it  may  be  an  interesting  sub- 
ject for  any  one  who  wishes  to  continue  the  history  up  to 
the  famous  revolution  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers ;  only,  trans- 
lating as  faithfully  as  I  can  a  Latin  passage  of  Nicholas 
Jamsilla,  a  cotemporary  chronicler,  I  will  show  to  my  readers 
how  foolishly  the  Neapolitan  barons  trusted  in  the  faith  cf 
the  French ;  they  suffered  insupportable  burdens,  they 
had  to  bend  under  foreign  tyranny,  and  bear  universal 
mockery  and  contempt  beside.  Let  the  Italians  keep 
the  example  in  their  minds,  and  learn  wisdom  if  they  can. 
"  Oh  King  Manfred ! "  exclaims  Jamsilla,  "  in  the  de- 
spair of  every  hope,  now  we  have  learned  what  you  were, 
and  sorrowfully  deplore  you.  Flattered  by  the  hope  of 
present  dominion,  we  reputed  you  a  rapacious  wolf  among 
quiet  lambs,  and  while  we  anxiously  awaited  large  icwards 
in  recompense  for  our  disloyalty,  too  late  we  recognized 
you  as  a  mild  lamb.  Now  we  acknowledge  the  mildness 
of  your  rule,  when  we  compare  it  with  the  severity  of  the 
new.  We  often  complained  that  you  had  usurped  part  of 
our  privileges  to  strengthen  your  royal  prerogatives  ;  now 
first  our  estates,  then  our  persons  are  we  obliged  to  offer 
as  a  prey  to  the  cruel  foreigner." 

I  will  not  relate  the  miserable  end  of  Manfred  with  dif- 
ferent words  than  those  used  by  the  chronicler  Villani — 
so  much  the  more  trustworthy,  inasmuch  as  he,  belong- 
ing to  the  Guelph  party,  uses  all  his  efforts  to  embellish 
the  lofty  deeds  of  Charles,  and  to  find  excuses  for  his  bad 
ones  :  "  For  more  than  three  days  they  sought  for  the 
body  of  Manfred,  nor  could  it  be  found,  and  no  one  knew 
whether  he  had  been  killed  or  taken,  or  had  escaped, 
for  he  had  not  worn  royal  armor  in  the  battle. 


436  The  Revenge. 

Finally,  alow  clown  of  his  people  recognized  him  through 
several  marks  in  his  person,  in  the  midst  of  the  field 
where  the  battle  had  been  the  fiercest.  Having  found  it, 
the  said  clown  placed  it  astride  of  an  ass  of  his,  and  went 
about,  crying:  ilVho  buys  Manfred?'  Then  a  baron 
of  King  Charles  gave  him  a  good  beating  with  a  stick,  and 
carried  the  body  of  Manfred  before  the  king,  who  seeing 
it,  called  all  the  barons  that  had  been  taken  prisoners, 
and  asked  each  one  whether  it  was  the  body  of  Manfred  ; 
all  timidly  replied  yes.  But  when  Count  Giordano 
Lancia  came,  he  wrung  his  hands,  weeping,  and  crying  : 
'  Alas !  my  good  master,  what  do  I  see  ?  my  brave, 
my  wise  master,  who  has  so  cruelly  taken  your  life  ? 
Vase  of  philosophy,  honor  of  knighthood,  glory  of  kings, 
why  is  a  knife  denied  me  that  I  may  kill  myself  to  accom- 
pany you  in  death  ?'  For  which  he  was  very  much  praised  by 
the  French  barons."  (And  Charles  also  praised  him  for 
his  attachment  to  his  king,  but  it  did  not  restrain  him  from 
basely  making  him  die  in  the  prisons  of  Provence.) 
"  King  Charles  was  requested  by  several  barons  to  allow 
them  to  bury  it  with  due  honors.  Charles  replied  :  '  Le 
fairois-je  volontiers,  si  lui  ne  fut  excommunie.'  But  be- 
cause he  was  excommunicated,  King  Charles  would  not 
allow  it  to  be  buried  in  a  sacred  place,  but  at  the  foot  of 
the  bridge  of  Benevento,  and  over  his  grave  a  stone  was 
thrown  by  every  one  of  his  army,  which  made  a  great 
mountain  of  stones."  So  far  Villani.  The  divine  Dante, 
singing  this  sorrowful  episode,  adds  that  the  Archbishop 
of  Cosenza,  Bartholomeus  Pignatelli,  by  order  of  Pope 
•Clement,  had  it  taken  out  from  under  that  mausoleum 
of  stones,  and  thrown  in  the  open  field  upon  the  banks  of 
the  river  Verde,  now  known  by  the  name  of  Marino, 
which  runs  near  Ascoli ! .  , 


And  while  some  beckoned  us  with  bended  hand 
One  called — "  Whoe'er  thou  art  there  journeying  s 

Turn  !     Think — hast  ever  looked  on  me  before  ?  " 
I  turned  and  gazed  upon  the  one  who  spoke. 

Handsome  and  blond,  he  looked  high-born,  but  o'er 
One  brow  appeared  the  severance  of  a  stroke. 

When  I  had  humbly  answered  him  that  ne'er 


The  Revenge.  437 

Had  I  beheld  him—"  Look  ! "  he  said,  and  high 
Up  on  his  breast  showed  me  a  wound  he  bare  ; 

Then  added  smilingly,  "  Manfred  am  I, 
The  Empress  Constance'  grandson  :  in  such  name 

Do  I  entreat,  when  back  thon  shall  have  gone, 
To  my  fair  daughter  hie,  of  whose  womb  came 

Sicily's  boast  and  Aragon's  renown, 
And  tell  her  this — if  aught  but  truth  be  said — 

That  after  two  stabs,  each  of  power  to  kill, 
I  gave  my  soul  back  weeping  ere  it  fled 

To  Him  who  pardoneth  of  His  own  free  will. 
My  sins  were  horrible  :  but  large  embrace 

Infinite  Goodness  hath,  whose  arms  will  ope 
For  every  child  who  turneth  back  to  Grace  ; 

And  if  Cosenza's  bishop,  by  the  Pope 
Clement  set  on  to  hound  me  to  the  last, 

That  page  of  Holy  Writ  had  better  read, 
My  bones  had  still  been  sheltered Trom  the  blast 

Near  Benevento,  by  the  bridge's  head, 
Under  their  load  of  stones  :  but  now  without 

The  realm  they  lie,  by  Verde's  river — bare — 
For  winds  and  rains  to  beat  and  blow  about, 

Dragged  with  quench'd  candles  and  with  curses  there. 
Yet  not  by  their  poor  malediction  can 

Souls  be  lost  so  but  that  Eternal  Love 
May  be  brought  back  while  hope  hath  life  in  man. 

'Tis  true  that  one  who  sets  himself  above 
The  Holy  Church,  and  dies  beneath  its  ban 

(Even  though  he  had  repented  at  the  last), 
Outside  this  mount  must  unadmitted  rove 

Thirty  times  longer  than  the  term  had  been 
Of  his  presumptuous  contumacy  past, 

Unless  good  prayers  a  shorter  penance  win. 
See  now  what  power  thou  hast  to  make  me  glad  : 

Report  of  me  to  my  good  Constance  bear, 
How  thou  saw'st  me  and  what  I've  told  thee  add ; 

For  much  it  profits  us  what  they  do  there.  * 

Ghino  di  Tacco,  although  mortally  wounded,  was  car- 
ried off  by  his  faithful  followers  to  a  place  of  safety ;  and 
they  sought  so  much,  that  they  were  able  to  obtain  two 
very  famous  physicians,  and  intrusted  him  into  their 
hands,  in  order  that  they  might  exercise  their  best  skill  to 
cure  him.  Having  examined  him  from  head  to  foot,  one 

*  DANTE'S  PURGATORIO,  Canto  Third.  Translation  of  T.  W. 
PARSONS,  ESQ. 


438  The  Revenge. 

declared  that  he  was  wounded  in  the  lungs,  the  other  af- 
firmed that  he  was  not ;  they  discussed  the  whole  night 
about  it  without  agreeing ;  on  the  morning,  unable  to 
come  to  any  understanding,  they  were  on  the  point  of  put- 
ting their  hands  to  their  daggers  the  better  to  convince 
each  other ;  it  failed  of  a  very  little  that  to  cure  a 
wounded  man  two  had  killed  one  another. 

Ghino's  followers  interposed,  tired  of  the  disgusting 
squabble,  and  ordered  them  with  severe  looks  to  be 
silent,  and  take  good  care  to  cure  him,  otherwise  it  would 
be  the  worse  for  them.  Then  they  were  silent  :  one 
began  to  bleed  him,  the  other  to  give  him  strengthening 
drinks  ;  one  ordered  diet,  the  other  to  eat  and  drink  ;  as 
it  pleased  God,  the  strong  constitution  of  Ghino  over- 
came every  obstacle,  and  he  was  cured.  People  said 
that  that  cure  was  a  miracle  ;  and  in  fact  until  then, 
within  the  best  memory  of  man,  no  one  had  ever  survived 
to  the  science  of  two  physicians.  Having  returned  in 
process  of  time  to  his  castle  of  Radicofani,  he,  though 
hating  it,  kept  on  his  old  profession  of  robbing  the  high- 
ways ;  when,  towards  the  end  of  the  century,  having- 
taken  prisoner  the  Abbot  de  Cligny,  who  was  going  to 
the  baths  of  Siena,  the  good  prelate  became  so  enamored 
of  his  virtues,  that  he  reconciled  him  with  the  Church, 
and  Pope  Boniface  VIII.  being  of  a  noble  spirit,  and  a 
great  encourager  of  merit,  called  him  to  his  court,  gave 
him  the  priory  of  an  hospital,  and  made  him  a  knight ; 
which  history  any  one  who  desires  to  know  it  can  read 
it  in  the  last  day  of  the  Decameron  of  Boccaccio*  With 
all  the  diligence  that  I  have  used  in  my  researches,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  satisfy  my  curiosity  respecting  the 
Emir  Jussuff.  It  is  possible  that  he  died  in  battle ;  pos- 
sible also  that  he  had  the  chance  of  escaping  to  Africa  : 
yet  I  cannot  certify  to  the  one  thing  nor  the  other,  and 
leave  it  to  the  conscience  of  the  reader  to  believe  what 
he  thinks  the  more  probable  of  the  two. 

l''a'i)ous  for  a  very  long  time  resounded  through  the 

*  As  a  complement  to  Ghino's  history  we  have  appended  this  novel 
of  Boccaccio.  See  Appendix. — TRANS. 


The  Revenge.  439 

kingdom  the  report  of  the  dreadful  death  of  Rinaldo 
d' Aquino.  Time  had  buried  it  in  oblivion.  Now,  as 
fortune  wills,  it  is  recalled  by  me  to  the  memory  of 
men.  Invited  to  court  by  the  Count  of  Provence,  he 
refused  ;  and  Charles,  delighted  to  >njoy  the  benefit  with- 
out paying  the  reward  of  treachery,  allowed  him  will- 
ingly to  retire  from  the  world.  Rinaldo,  in  the  solitude 
of  his  castle,  incessantly  meditating  the  crimes  and  the 
revenge  committed,  tormented  by  the  sting  of  remorse, 
feeling  that  from  the  death  of  Manfred  he  had  not  derived 
that  comfort  which  he  had  hoped  before  it  happened, 
watching  in  the  nights,  wandering  sleepless  through 
the  halls  of  his  palace,  murmuring  in  the  fever  of  grief 
horrible  imprecations,  fearful  of  the  light  of  day  as  if  it 
was  the  presence  of  an  enemy,  avoiding  all  human  soci- 
ety, he  dared  one  day  to  cast  a  glance  within  his  soul, 
and  wondered  how  he  could  bear  it  still  to  abide  within 
his  body.  He  resolved  to  die.  In  the  evening  he  came 
clown  to  the  hall,  and  gathering  all  his  domestics,  he  dis- 
missed them  with  many  presents,  stating  that  he  intended 
to  enter  a  new  life.  They  all  supposed  that  he  had  re- 
solved to  enter  into  some  convent,  and  praised  him  much 
for  it.  He  had  been  always  a  good  master  to  them. 
They  knelt  before  him,  and  wept  with  grief ;  perhaps  in 
that  moment  they  felt  the  loss  of  their  position — perhaps 
it  was  sincere  grief.  Enough — what  was  real  was  the 
weeping.  They  wanted  his  blessing  ;  they  begged  repeat- 
edly for  it.  Rinaldo,  like  a  man  beside  himself,  came  sud- 
denly to  his  senses,  and  resuming  his  baronial  haughtiness, 
commanded  them  all  to  rise  and  depart.  Silently  they  all 
returned  to  their  rooms,  to  meditate  plans  in  order  to  pro- 
vide for  their  remaining  years.  On  the  morrow,  an 
esquire,  whom  the  new  command  had  not  been  able  to 
make  forget  his  ancient  habits,  not  seeing  the  count 
appear  at  the  usual  hour,  went  softly  to  his  room,  and 
listened  ;  he  heard  no  sound  ;  he  looked  through  the  key- 
hole, and  saw  his  master  hanging  by  the  neck.  The  faith- 
ful servant  uttered  a  piercing  cry,  and  with  all  his 
strength  forced  the  door  so  violently,  that  he  threw  it  un- 
hinged into  the  middle  of  the  room. 


440  The  Revenge. 

Count  Rinalclo  had  placed  a  stool  over  the  bed  ;  then 
hanging  the  rope  to  the  beam,  and  fixing  a  noose  around 
his  neck,  had  kicked  away  the  stool,  and  remained  sus- 
pended. Upon  the  head  of  the  bed  stood  an  open  box ;  the 
treasure  it  contained  was  the  skull  of  Lady  Spina.  Though 
his  face  was  black,  his  mouth  distorted,  yet  he  did  not 
seem  dead.  The  servant,  drawing  his  knife,  ran  towards 
Count  Rinaldo  to  cut  the  rope.  The  mastiff  of  Caserta 
that  lay  under  the  bed,  imagining  that  the  servant  was 
attempting  to  strike  his  master,  jumped  upon  him  fiercely, 
and  seized  him  by  the  throat.  The  servant  defended 
himself  as  best  he  could,  and  loudly  called  for  help.  He 
called  so  long  that  finally  he  was  heard  by  several  of  his 
companions  ;  they  rushed  to  the  room,  bound  the  dog, 
and  cutting  the  rope,  laid  Caserta  upon  the  bed.  They 
used  all  means  possible  to  revive  him,  but  in  vain  ; 
perhaps  if  the  servant  had  immediately  cut  the  rope,  he 
might  have  been  saved  :  the  time  that  the  mastiff  held 
him  back  ended  certainly  the  life  of  the  miserable  Ca- 
serta. If  it  was  chance  which  punished  Rinaldo  for  the 
treachery  committed  against  Manfred  by  the  faithfulness 
of  his  dog,  it  must  be  confessed  that  chance  sometimes  is 
more  wise  than  justice.  Angiolo  di  Costanzo,  in  the  his- 
tory of  Naples,  desiring  to  clear  in  some  measure  the 
fame  of  Count  Rinaldo,  narrates  that  he,  having  been  in- 
formed that  the  king  had  seduced  the  countess,  desirous 
of  proceeding  as  a  knight  and  according  to  the  rules  of 
honor,  sent  secretly  to  Rome,  where  he  knew  that  with 
Charles  there  was  the  flower  of  the  chivalry  of  that  age, 
a  confidential  agent  of  his,  who  proposed  before  the  as- 
sembly of  those  knights,  whether  it  was  lawful  in  such 
case  to  rebel  against  his  king,  and  fail  in  his  fealty ; 
which,  as  the  reader  may  imagine,  was  decided  by  the 
knights  and  literati  who  followed  Charles,  not  only  that 
it  was  lawful,  but  rather  it  was  a  duty  to  do  so.  I  for 
my  part,  being  born  of  the  people,  do  not  know  how  a 
knight  should  act,  nor  in  what  he  makes  the  rules  of 
honor  to  consist ;  but  I  think  that  treachery  is  always 
treachery  ;  that  it  is  dishonorable  to  betray  faith  to  him  to 
whom  one  has  sworn  it.  That  if  Manfred  acted  ill,  Ca- 


The  Revenge.  441 

scrta  did  worse  ;  the  guilt  of  others  does  not  diminish 
one's  own  ;  infamies  cannot  be  cancelled  by  each  other  ; 
and  at  any  rate,  that  if  Rinaldo  desired  to  avenge  himself, 
he  should  have  avenged  himself  against  the  offender,  not 
against  his  people,  nor  by  calling  the  foreigner  to  oppress 
his  country ;  that  the  poniard  or  the  poison  should  be 
reputed  less  blamable  than  this  disgraceful  revenge. 

John  of  Procida,  destined  later  to  avenge  the  family  of 
Manfred,  did  not  succeed  in  saving  it.  Having  taken 
refuge  in  Lucera  he  sent  to  the  seashore  to  procure  a 
galley  or  other  vessel  that  could  take  them  to  Catalonia. 
The  messengers  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  and  were 
killed.  Lucera,  besieged  by  the  French,  defended  itself 
bravely ;  certainly  there  was  very  little  hope  ;  the  food 
and  the  garrison  diminished  from  day  to  day,  but  Procida 
protested  that  Charles  should  not  enter  the  city  as  long  as 
there  was  a  living  soul  in  it.  Tempted  to  betray  his  trust, 
he  threw  with  his  own  hands  the  shameful  ambassador 
from  the  walls  of  the  city.  All  that  man  could  do,  he  had 
done :  famine  and  death  stared  them  in  the  face.  Be  it 
that  the  long  siege  wearied  Charles,  be  it  that  he  feared 
to  take  it  by  assault,  though  possessing  such  pre- 
ponderating forces,  he  had  recourse  to  fraud.  He  pro- 
posed to  Procida  that  if  he  surrendered  the  town  (since 
it  was  useless  to  resist),  he  would  grant  to  Manfredino 
the  investiture  of  the  principality  of  Taranto,  and  the 
other  possessions  left  in  the  will  of  the  Emperor  Fred- 
erick to  his  father  Manfred.  He  would  not  exact  any 
homage  of  allegiance,  any  cession  of  the  crown  of 
Naples  ;  for  security  he  would  engage  his  word  as  king. 
He  admired  besides  the  rare  fidelity  of  Procida,  who  with 
such  noble  resistance  defended  the  cause  of  his  mas- 
ter ;  he  would  surely  compensate  it ;  faith  was  a  beautiful 
virtue,  nor  less  praiseworthy  because  contrary  to  his  own 
designs  ;  he  would  hold  him  as  his  truest  friend,  as  he  had 
held  him  his  most  generous  enemy.  Procida  refused  to 
surrender,  suspicious  of  the  flattery  ;  the  besieged  ones' 
however  compelled  him.  Charles  d' Anjou  kept  his  promise 
to  Manfredino  of  Swabia  in  the  same  manner  that 
Henry  the  Swabian  kept  it  to  William  the  Norman  ;  thus 


442  The  Revenge. 

in  those  remote  times  kings  resembled  each  other  in  their 
faith  !  Elena,  Yole,  Manfredino  and  Procida,  imprisoned 
in  the  castle  dell'  Uovo  in  Naples,  attested  by  a  fresh 
example  that  the  conquered  should  never  trust  but  to 
their  graves.  Procida  was  able,  however,  to  deceive  the 
guards,  lower  himself  from  the  tower,  and  escape.  He 
took  upon  himself  the  vengeance  of  Manfred,  and  so 
•rnuch  he  worked  in  Aragon  at  the  court  of  King  Peter, 
so  much  at  Constantiriapolis  with  the  Emperor  Paleolo- 

'  gus,  so  much  he  incited  his  compatriots,  whom,  with  in- 
credible boldness,  he  visited  in  Sicily,  so  much  Pope 
Nicholas  of  the  Orsini,  to  whose  court  he  went  dressed 
as  a  monk — that,  after  three  years  of  continual  voyages, 
of  drawbacks  and  danger*,  he  revolutionized  Sicily 
against  King  Charles,  restored  there  Constance,  daughter 
of  Manfred,  queen  to  Peter  of  Aragon,  and,  with  one 
exception,  destroyed  all  the  French  that  dwelt  in  the 
island.  A  wonderful  history,  that,  should  fortune  look 
smilingly  on  me,  I  would  not  spare  any  labor  to  add  to 
this. 

Elena  and  her  children  never  re-appeared  to  the  light 
of  day ;  how  long  they  lived,  how  they  died,  is  a  mys- 
tery of  crime.  The  story  was  at  one  time  related,  that  in 
the  western  tower  of  the  castle  dell'  Uovo,  on  the  eve  of 
All  Souls'  Day,  after  the  bell  had  rung  the  midnight  hour, 
there  would  be  heard  a  cry,  and  soon  after  would  be  seen  a 
sceptred  female  ghost  gliding  swiftly  along  the  battle- 
ments without  moving  steps,  and  enter  the  chapel ;  the 
sentries  never  dared  to  wait  for  it  at  their  post,  and  would 
all  fly  at  that  hour  into  their  quarters.  Once  a  certain 
soldier  of  GaScony,  -incited  by  his  companions  and  by 
wine,  dared  to  follow  the  ghost  and  enter  into  the 
chapel  with  it ;  in  the  morning  he  was  found  senseless  on 
the  pavement.  Coming  to  his  senses,  he  related  that  the 
sceptred  ghost,  kneeling  before  the  altar,  had  struck  a 
tombstone,  and  from  the  opened  sepulchre  had  risen  two 

-other  ghosts — one  of  a  maiden,  the  other  of  a  boy — who, 
throwing  themselves  on  the  neck  of  the  first,  had  em- 
braced her  as  one  does  the  dearest  of  kin  ;  that  after- 
wards they  began  fervently  to  pray  before  the  image  of 


The  Revenge.  443 

the  Madonna.  The  image  thus  prayed  to,  turning  to  the 
infant  she  held  on  her  arm,  spoke  thus  :  "  Grant  to 
these  afflicted  ones  their  request,  my  sweet  Son," — to 
which  the  infant  making  no  reply,  the  Virgin  rising. to  her 
feet,  placed  him  upon  the  altar,  and  kneeling  before 
him  in  a  supplicating  attitude,  begged  again :  "  Grant 
to  these  afflicted  ones  their  request,  my  sweet  Son  ;  "  at 
which  prayer  the  sacred  infant,  gathering  with  his  hand 
some  blood  that  dropped  from  the-  bosom  of  the 
sceptred  ghost,  wrote  several  letters  upon  the  table  of 
the  altar ;  then  the  lamps  were  extinguished,  an  earth- 
quake shook  the  chapel,  and  he  fell,  struck  senseless  to 
the  ground.  They  went  up  to  the  altar,  and  there  they 
found  written  with  fresh  blood,  REVENGE.  They  wiped  it 
out,  but  every  succeeding  year,  on  All  Souls'  Day,  it  re- 
appeared redder  than  before  ;  nor  did  it  evef  cease  to  ap- 
pear until  the  slaughter  of  the  Sicilian  Vespers.  He  who 
can  do  all,  might  have  performed  the  above  miracle.  Still, 
I  think  that  it  ought  to  be  attributed  to  superstition  ; 
which,  however,  demonstrates  how  strong  was  the  pre- 
conceived ill-will  of  the  people,  who  were  convinced  that 
Heaven  was  in"  league  with  them  to  obtain  revenge 
against  the  foreign  oppressor. 

What  is  the  moral  of  this  book  ?  If  minds  accustomed 
to  speculate  upon  the  reasons  of  things  will  learn  from  this 
history  that  crime  begets  revenge,  and  with  never-ending 
alternation  revenge  begets  crime ;  and  that  when  virtue 
has  no  power  to  please,  there  is  no  other  argument  to  re- 
strain man  from  wrongdoing,  and  the  best  that  can  be 
done  is  to  frighten  him  by  the  consequences  of  evil,  curb 
him  by  terror,  since  we  cannot  do  it  by  love — if,  I  say,  he 
will  learn  these  truths,  I  doubt  not  that  the  moral  of  the 
book  will  appear  such  as  I  intended  to  instil  in  it. 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  addio,  (farewell.)  Meditating 
upon  this  word  it  seems  to  me  that  not  only  it  sounds 
plaintive  on  account  of  the  sensations  it  arouses,  but 
also  by  a  sad  combination  of  the  letters,  farewell ; — if 
you  could  feel  even  one  half  the  sadness  in  receiving  it, 
which  I  feel  in  giving  it, — oh  !  the  reward  would  far  sur- 
pass my  hopes. 


APPENDIX. 


BOCCACCIO'S  NOVEL  II.,  TENTH  DAY. 

BHINO  DI  TACCO  was  a  man  famous  for  his  bold  and 
insolent  robberies,  who,  being  banished  from  Siena,  and  at 
utter  enmity  with  the  Counts  of  Santa  Fiore,  caused  the 
town  of  Radicofani  to  rebel  against  the  Church,  'and 
lived  there,  whilst  his  gang  robbed  all  who  passed  that 
way.  Now,  when  Boniface  the  Eighth  was  pope,  there  came  to 
court  the  Abbot  of  Cligny,  reputed  to  be  one  of  the  richest  prelates 
in  the  world,  and  having  impaired  his  stomach  with  high  living,  he 
was  advised  by  his  physicians  to  go  to  the  baths  of  Siena,  as  a  cer- 
tain cure.  Having  leave  from  the  pope,  the  abbot  set  out  with  a 
goodly  train  of  coaches,  carriages,  horses  and  servants,  paying  no  re- 
gard to  the  rumors  concerning  this  robber.  Ghmo  was  apprised  of 
his  coming  and  took  his  measures  accordingly  ;  when,  without  the 
loss  of  a  man,  he  inclosed  the  abbot  and  his  whole  retinue  in  a  nar- 
row defile,  whence  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  escape.  This  be- 
ing done,  he  sent  one  of  his  principal  followers  to  the  abbot,  with  his 
service,  requesting  he  would  do  him  the  favor  to  alight,  and  visit 
him  at  his  castle.  The  abbot  replied,  with  a  great  deal  of  passion, 
that  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  Ghino,  but  that  his  resolution  was  to 
go  on,  and  he  would  see  who  dared  to  stop  him.  "My  lord," 
quoth  the  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  humility,  "you  are  now  in  a 
place  where  all  excommunications  are  kicked  out  of  doors,  so  please 
to  oblige  my  master  in  this  thing;  it  will  be  your  best  way." 

Whilst  they  were  talking  together,  the  place  was  soon  surrounded 
with  highwaymen,  and  the  abbot,  seeing  himself  a  prisoner,  went 
with  a  great  deal  of  ill-will  with  the  fellow  to  the  castle,  followed 
by  his  whole  retinue,  where  he  dismounted,  and  was  lodged,  by 
Ghino' s  appointment,  in  a  poor  dark  little  room,  whilst  every  other 
person  was  well  accommodated  according  to  his  respective  station, 
and  the  carriages  and  all  the  horses  taken  exact  care  of.  This  be- 
ing done,  Ghino  went  to  the  abbot,  and  said,  "  My  lord,  Ghino, 
whose  guest  you  are,  requests  the  favor  of  you  to  let  him  know 
whither  you  are  going,  and  upon  what  account  ?  "  The  abbot  was 
wise  enough  to  lay  all  his  haughtiness  aside  for  the  time  being,  and 
satisfied  him  with  regard  to  both.  Ghino  went  away  on  hearing  this  • 


446  Appendix. 

and  having  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  cure  his  lordship  with- 
out a  bath,  he  ordered  a  great  fire  to  be  kept  constantly  in  his  room, 
coming  to  him  no  more  till  next  morning,  when  he  brought  him  two 
slices  of  toasted  bread,  in  a  fine  napkin,  and  a  large  glass  of  his  own 
rich  white  wine,  saying  to  him,  "My  lord,  when  Ghino  was  young 
he  studied  physic,  and  he  declares  that  the  very  best  medicine  for  a 
pain  in  the  stomach  is  what  he  has  now  provided  for  you,  of  which 
these  things  are  to  be  the  beginning.  Then  take  them  and  have  a 
good  heart."  The  abbot,  whose  hunger  was  much  greater  than  was 
his  will  to  joke,  ate  the  bread,  though  with  a  great  deal  of  indigna- 
tion, and  drank  the  glass  of  wine,  after  which  he  began  to  talk  a 
little  arrogantly,  asking  many  questions,  and  demanding  more  par- 
ticularly to  see  this  Ghino.  But  Ghino  passed  over  part  of  what  he 
said  as  vain,  and  the  rest  he  answered  very  courteously,  declaring 
that  Ghino  meant  to  make  him  a  visit  very  soon,  and  then  left  him. 
The  abbot  saw  him  no  more  till  next  morning,  when  he  brought  him 
as  much  bread  and  wine  as  before,  and  in  the  same  manner.  And  thus 
he  continued  doing  many  days,  till  he  found  the  abbot  had  eaten 
some  dried  beans,  which  he  had  left  purposely  in  the  chamber,  when 
he  inquired  of  him,  as  from  Ghino,  how  he  found  his  stomach  ?  The 
abbot  replied,  "  I  should  be  well  enough  if  I  were  out  of  this  man's 
clutches.  There  is  nothing  I  want  now  so  much  as  to  eat,  for  his 
medicines  have  had  such  an  effect  upon  me,  that  I  am  ready  to  die 
with  hunger." 

Ghino,  then,  having  furnished  a  room  with  the  abbot's  own  goods, 
and  provided  an  elegant  entertainment,  to  which  many  people  of  the 
town  were  invited,  as  well  as  the  abbot's  own  domestics,  went  the 
next  morning  to  him,  and  said,  "My  lord,  now  you  find  yourself 
recovered,  it  is  time  for  you  to  quit  this  infirmary."  So  he  took 
him  by  the  hand,  and  leading  him  into  the  chamber,  left  him  there 
with  his  own  people.  Whilst  Ghino  was  away  giving  orders  about 
the  feast,  the  abbot  gave  his  people  an  account  of  the  life  he  had 
led  in  that  place,  they  on  the  other  hand  declaring  that  they  had 
been  used  by  Ghino  with  all  possible  respect.  When  the  time  came, 
they  sat  down,  and  were  nobly  entertained,  but  still  without  Ghino's 
making  himself  known.  After  the  abbot  had  been  treated  for  some 
days  in  that  manner,  Ghino  had  all  the  goods  and  furniture  brought 
into  a  large  room,  and  the  horses  were  likewise  led  into  a  court- 
yard which  was  under  it.  Then  he  inquired  how  his  lordship  now 
found  himself,  and  whether  he  was  yet  able  to  ride.  The  abbot 
made  answer,  that  he  was  strong  enough,  and  his  stomach  perfectly 
well,  and  that  he  only  wanted  to  be  quit  of  this  man.  Ghino  then 
brought  him  into  the  room  where  all  his  goods  were,  and  leading 
hi ai  also  to  the  window,  that  he  might  take  a  view  of  his  horses,  he 
said,  "  My  lord,  you  must  understand  it  was  no  evil  disposition,  but 
his  being  driven  a  poor  exile  from  his  own  house,  and  persecuted 
by  many  enemies,  that  forced  Ghino  di  Tacco,  whom  you  see  before 
you,  to  be  a  robber  upon  the  highways,  and  an  enemy  to  the  court 
of  Rome.  You  seem,"  however,  to  be  a  person  of  honor ;  since, 


Appendix.  447 

therefore,  I  have  cured  you  of  your  weakness  of  stomach,  I  do  not 
mean  to  treat  you  as  I  would  do  another  person  that  should  fall 
into  my  hands — that  is,  to  take  what  I  please ;  but  I  would  have 
you  consider  my  necessity,  and  then  give  me  what  you  will  yourself. 
Here  is  all  that  belongs  to  you ;  the  horses  you  may  see  out  of  the 
window :  take  either  part  or  the  whole,  just  as  you  are  disposed,  and 
go  or  stay,  as  is  most  agreeable  to  you." 

The  abbot  was  surprised  to  hear  a  highwayman  talk  in  so  courte- 
ous a  manner,  which  did  not  a  little  please  him ;  KO  turning  all  his 
former  passion  and  resentment  into  kindness  and  goodwill,  he  ran 
with  a  heart  full  of  friendship  to  embrace  him  :  "I  protest  solemnly, 
that  to  procure  the  friendship  of  such  a  one  as  1  take  you  to  be,  I 
would  undergo  more  than  what  you  have  already  made  me  suffer. 
Cursed  be  that  evil  fortune  which  has  thrown  you  into  this  way  of 
life  !  "  So  taking  only  a  few  of  his  most  necessary  things,  and  also 
of  his  horses,  and  leaving  all  the  rest,  he  came  back  to  Rome. 

The  pope  had  heard  of  the  abbot's  being  a  prisoner,  and.  though 
he  was  much  concerned  at  it,  yet  upon  seeing  him  he  inquired 
what  benefit  he  had  received  from  the  baths?  The  abbot  replied, 
with  a  smile,  "  Holy  father,  I  found  a  physician  much  nearer, 
who  has  cured  me  exceedingly  well;"  and  he  told  him  the  manner 
of  it,  which  made  the  pope  laugh  heartily.  Then,  going  on  with  his 
story,  and  moved  by  a  truly  generous  spirit,  he  requested  of  his  holi- 
ness one  favor.  The  pope,  imagining  he  would  ask  something  else, 
freely  consented  to  grant  it.  Then  said  the  abbot,  "  Holy  father, 
what  I  have  to  ask  is,  that  you  would  bestow  a  free  pardon  on  Ghino 
di  Tacco,  my  doctor,  because  of  all  the  people  of  worth  that  I  ever  met 
with,  he  certainly  is  most  to  be  esteemed,  and  the  damage  he  does  is 
more  the  fault  of  fortune  than  himself.  Change  but  his  condition,  and 
give  him  something  to  live  upon,  according  to  his  rank  and  station, 
and  I  dare  say  you  will  have  the  same  opinion  of  him  that  I  have." 
The -pope  being  of  a  noble  spirit,  and  a  great  encourager  of  merit, 
promised  to  do  so,  if  he  was  such  a  person  as  the  abbot  reported, 
and,  in  the  meantime,  gave  letters  of  safe  conduct  for  his  coming 
thither.  Upon  that  assurance,  Ghino  came  to  court,  when  the 
pope  was  soon  convinced  of  his  worth,  and  reconciled  to  him,  giving 
him  the  priory  of  an  hospital,  and  creating  him  a  knight.  And 
there  he  continued  as  a  friend  and  loyal  servant  of  the  Holy  Church, 
and  to  the  Abbot  of  Cligny,  as  long  as  he  lived. 


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Fairfax. — John  Esten  Cooke i  50 

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Out  of  the  Foam. —  ".  T  50 

Hammer  and  Rapier. —     150 

Kenneth,  My  King. — S.  A.  Brock. .  i  75 

Heart  Hungry  .-M.  J.  Westmoreland  i  75 


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Do. 


75 


Among  the  Pines. — 


Do. 


My  Southern  Friends. —  Do. 
Down  in  Tennessee. —      Do. 
Ebon  and  Gold.— C.  L.  Mcllvain... 
Robert  Greathouse.— J.  F.  Swift. 
Warwick.— By  M.  T.  Wai  worth . . . . 


Lulu. — 
Hotspur. — 

Stormcliff.— 
Dclaplaine. — 
Beverly. — 


Do. 
Do. 
Do. 

Do! 


i  75 
i  50 

i  75 
i  50 
i  50 
i  50 
i  50 
'  5° 
J  SO 
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a  oo 
'  7? 
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i  75 
*  75 
i  75 
i  75 


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CHARLES  DICKENS'  WORKS. 


A  New  Edition. 

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the  price  /s  too  high. 

An  entirely  new  edition  is  now,  however,  published  by  G.  W. 
Carleton  &  Co.  of  New  York,  which,  it  is  believed,  will,  in  every 
respect,  completely  satisfy  the  popular  demand. — It  is  known  as 

"  Carleton's  New  Illustrated  Edition." 

COMPLETE  IN  15  VOLUMES. 

The  size  and  form  is  most  convenient  for  holding, — the  type  is 
entirely  new,  and  of  a  clear  and  open  character  that  has  received  the 
approval  of  the  reading  community  in  other  popular  works. 

The  illustrations  are  by  the  original  artists  chosen  by  Charles 
Dickens  himself — and  the  paper,  printing,  and  binding  are  of  an 
attractive  and  substantial  character. 

This  beautiful  new  edition  is  complete  in  15  volumes — at  the 
extremely  reasonable  price  of  $1.50  per  volume,  as  follows: — 

I. — PICKWICK  PAPERS  AND  CATALOGUE. 

2. — OLIVER  TWIST. — UNCOMMERCIAL  TRAVELLER. 
•3. — DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 

4. — GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. — ITALY  AND  AMERICA. 

5. — DOMBEY  AND  SON. 

6. — BARNABY  RUDGE  AIMD  EDWIN  DROOD. 

7. — NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 

8. — CURIOSITY  SHOP  AND  MISCELLANEOUS. 

9. — BLEAK  HOUSE. 
IO. — LITTLE  DORRIT. 
II. — MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 
12. — OUR  MUTUAL  FRIEND. 
13. — CHRISTMAS  BOOKS. — TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES. 
14. — SKETCHES  BY  BOZ  AND  HARD  TIMES. 
15. — CHILD'S  ENGLAND  AND  MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  first  volume — Pickwick  Papers — contains  an  alphabetical 
catalogue  of  all  of  Charles  Dickens'  writings,  with  their  positions 
in  the  volumes. 

This  edition  is  sold  by  Booksellers,  everywhere — and  single,  speci- 
men copies  will  be  forwarded  by  mail,  postage  free,  on  receipt  of 
price,  $1.50,  by 

G,  W,  CARLETON  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

Madison  Square,  New  York. 


THREE    VALUABLE    BOOKS. 

All  Beautifully  Printed  and  Elegantly  Bound. 
I. — Tlic  Art  of  Conversation, 

With  Dlrsctionn  for  Self-Culture.  An  admirably  conceived  and  entettainJet 
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be  found  chapters  upon — 
IriENTioN  IN  CONVERSATION.— SAT- 
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EENIJURE.  -  -FAULT-FINDING.— EGOT- 
ISM.— POLITENESS. — COMPLIMENTS. — 

BTORIKB.-ANEODOTES. -QUESTIONING. 

-LIBERTIES  —IMPUDENCE.— STARING. 
—  DISAGREEABLE    SUBJECTS.  —  SEL- 


FISHNESS. — ARGUMENT.— S 

— SILENT  PEOPLE. — DINXKR  Cow- 
VERSATION.— TIMIDITY.— ITS  CURE.— 
MODESTY. — CORRECT  LANG  STAGE. — 
SELF- INSTRUCTION. —MISCELLANEOUS 
KNOWLEDGE.  —LANGUAGES. 


II.— The  Habits  of  Good   Society. 

A  Handbook  for  Ladies  and  Gentlemen.  With  thoughts,  hints,  and  anecdotes 
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GENTLEMEN'S  PREFACE. 

LAIMEV'  PREFACE.— FASHIONS. 

THOUGHTS  ON  SOCIETY. 

Goo:>  SOCIETY.— BAD  SOCMTY. 

Tirf  DRF.KSIXH-ROOM. 

T.IE  LADIES'  TOILET. — DEESB. 

"r.MtNISE  ACCOMPLIBHMENTB. 

AlA>s'KRS  AND  HABITS. 

S\  BI.IC  ANU  I'UIVATE  ETigUETTK. 

MAKKIKO  ANL>  UNMARRIED  LADIEH. 

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MAHRi.MiE  CKREMHMKS. 

INVITAIIONH. —  lU:r>sES. 

BRIDESMAIDS. — PRESENTS. 
TRAVELLING  ETIQUETTE. 
PUBLIC  1'aoMKNADE. 
COUNTRY  VISITS. — CITY  VISITS. 


III.— Arts  of  Writing,  Reading,  and   Speaking. 

An  exceedingly  fascinating  work  for  teaching  not  only  the  beginner,  but  fot 
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READING  &  THINKING. — LANGUAGE. —  j  SAY. — WHAT  NOT  TO   BAT. — now  TO 
WORDS.  SENTENCES.  &  CONSTRUCTION.  |  BEGIN.-  0&cmOK&-I>KLlvxBT.  -\VRIT- 


WHAT  TO  AVOID.  — LETTF.B  WBITINU.  — 
PRONUNCIATION.— EXPRESSION.— TONE 


ING  A  SPEECH. — FIRST  LKSM>NS.— PUB- 
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RELIGIOUS  HEADINGS. — THE  BIBLE. —  I  ORATORY  OK  THE   PULPIT.— Cosn-r.si 
PRAYEIIS   -DRAMATIC  READINGS.— THE  TION. — THE  BAR. — READING  or  WIT 


HUMOR.— Turf  PLATFORM.— CONSTRUC- 
TION OF  A  SPEECH. 


ACTOB  &  RKADER.— FOUNDATIONS  FOR 
OBATOBY    AND  SPEAKING. — WHAT  TO 

These  warki  are  the  most  perfect  of  their  kind  ever  ji'iltlteked ;  frttti,  seimiMt 
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test  2Ae->i,  and  cannot  be  nilierifise  Hum  delighted  with.  them. 

Z-ST~  A  beautiful  new  ininatnre  edition  of  thoe  \"ry  i>opnlnr  ho<--¥«  ban  jn«t 
oexn  published,  entitled  "THE  DIAMOND  >:DITION."  three  little  volnn.e-.  e.e 
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*,*  These  Ixoks  are  all  sent  by  mail,  pttttage  free,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

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MARY  J.  HOLMES'  WORKS. 


i.  -TfcMPEST  AND  SUNSHINE. 

»..  -ENGLISH  ORPHANS. 

j.  -HOMESTEAD  ON  HILLSIDE. 

4.  —'LENA  RIVERS. 

f,     MEADOW  BROOK. 

6  DORA  DEANE. 

7  -COUSIN  MAUDE. 


8.— MARIAN  GRAY. 

p.— DARKNESS  AND  DAYLIGH*! 
xo.— HUGH  WORTHINGTON. 
ii.— CAMERON  PRIDE, 
is.— ROSE  MATHER. 
13.— ETHELYN'S  MISTAKE. 
14.— MILLBANK. 
,15.— EDNA  BROWNING. 


OPINIONS   OF   THE    PRESS. 

"Mrs.  Holmes'  stories  are  universally  read.  Her  admirers  are  numberless. 
She  is  in  many  respects  without  a  rival  in  the  world  of  fiction.  Her  characters 
are  always  life-like,  and  she  makes  them  talk  and  act  like  human  beings,  subject 
to  the  same  emotions,  swayed  by  the  same  passions,  and  actuated  by  the  same 
n.otives  which  are  common  among  men  and  women  of  every  day  existence.  Mrs. 
Holmes  is  very  happy  in  portraying  domestic  life.  Old  and  young  peruse  hei 
stories  with  great  del\ght,  for  she  writes  in  a  style  that  all  can  comprehend." — 
New  Y«rk  Weekly. 

•'  Mrs.  Holmes'  stories  are  all  of  a  domestic  character,  and  their  interest, 
therefore,  is  not  so  intense  as  if  they  were  more  highly  seasoned  with  sensational- 
ism, but  it  is  of  a  healthy  and  abiding  character.  Almost  any  new  book  which  her 
publisher  might  choose  to  announce  from  her  pen  would  get  an  immediate  and 
general  reading.  The  interest  in  her  tales  begins  at  once,  and  is  maintained  to 
the  close.  Her  sentiments  are  so  sound,  her  sympathies  so  warm  and  ready, 
and  her  knowledge  of  manners,  character,  and  the  varied  incidents  of  ordinary 
life  is  so  thorough,  that  she  would  find  it  difficult  to  write  any  other  than  an 
excellent  tale  if  she  were  to  try  it" — Boston  Banner. 

"  Mrs.  Holmes  is  very  amusing ;  has  a  quick  and  true  sense  of  humor,  a 
sympathetic  tone,  a  perception  of  character,  and  a  familiar,  attractive  style, 
j.teasantly  adapted  to  the  comprehension  and  the  taste  of  that  large  class  oi 
American  readers  for  whom  fashionable  novels  and  ideal  fantasies  have  M: 
d-.irm  "—  Henry  T.  Tucker  man. 


e  volumes  are  all  handsomely  printed   and  bound   in  cloth,  -••ilt1 
o«ryrHere,  and  sent  by  mail,  pas tage  free,  on  receipt  of  price  [$1.50  each],  bj 

G.  W.  CARLETON  &  CO.,   Publishers, 

Madison  Square,  Aew  York 


